


Kill Pete

by Fall_out_bisexual



Category: Fall Out Boy, Kill Bill (Movies), Marina And The Diamonds - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore
Genre: Gen, I guess idrk, Kill Bill AU, M/M, Not porn but some fluff, WOO, assassination au, first fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fall_out_bisexual/pseuds/Fall_out_bisexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Revenge is a dish best served cold." - Old Klingon Proverb. </p>
<p>Three and a half years ago, Patrick Stump (formerly known by the codename Soul Punk) was betrayed by his former coworkers (whom he called friends) and former lover, Pete. This betrayal left him in a coma, and when he awoke, he swore revenge. </p>
<p>And he will get it, no matter what hurdles he is going to go through.</p>
<p>He's going to Kill Pete. </p>
<p>~~Kill Bill AU~~</p>
<p>NOTE: These characters are simply inspired (and named after) by the real people and not meant to represent who they are in real life. It is a fictional story, and everything in here is fictional and not do not represent real events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Twin Skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first fanfiction, so if it sucks, I apologize. This is a Kill Bill based alternate universe, and the plot of the story is inspired by the movie. HOWEVER, it is not going to be Kill Bill word for word. It will have its own plot and twists and what not. It shouldn't be too violent, but I tagged it just in case. Also, this will not have graphic sex scenes. If you're looking for that, this is the wrong fic. 
> 
> So, with that stuff out of the way, enjoy!

_October 4, 2009  
New York City, New York _

 

> "Revenge is a dish best served cold."
> 
> \- Old Klingon Proverb

I never pictured myself living in Brooklyn. 

Going from a beautiful mansion in Mexico, right on the gulf, to a small two bedroom house wasn't the most idealistic change, but it was one that had to be done. You can't always live the luxurious (and slightly dangerous) life of being a highly paid assassin. Thing was, I didn't want to.

I wasn't a killer. I was never a killer. I just warped into it by falling in love with the most infamous assassin of the past two decades. 

But, that was all behind me. It was a daily struggle, not thinking about my old life, but it was a struggle I seemed to be winning. Throughout the past year and a half of my life that my ties with the IAL (International Assassins League) had been severed, I thought about them less and less. Yet, despite my efforts, they all kept creeping to my mind. Joe, Hayley, Brendon, Gerard, and especially Pete...I couldn't remove my thoughts from them. 

Nonetheless, it was all over. I was free from that life, and I had a new one I needed to attend to. 

I recalled the task that had been asked of me when my wife, Elisa, came into the small, 1990s styled kitchen to remind me. I had been asked to grab everyone in our living room a couple beers, and so far, I had been failing. 

"Are you okay?" Elisa asked me, her usual sweetness creeping into her voice despite the clear annoyance on her face. That was the thing about the short, Filipina girl I married; she was always sweet. 

"Yeah," I lied. "I'm just thinking." 

I smiled at Elisa as I grabbed six bottles from the fridge. 

We were having a small get together with a few of our friends, all of which lived in our neighborhood and had kids of their own. Why were we? I honestly have no idea; it was Sunday night and most of us had to work the next morning. Yet, there we were, hanging out like nothing was wrong.

And at the time, nothing was.

I followed Elisa out into the living room and sat down next to her on our love seat. Our living room contained a nineties style television in a large entertainment center, a love seat sitting across from it, a coffee table in the middle, and a chair sitting diagonally to the side. Sitting in the chair was Elisa’s best friend Hannah, and our three other friends Gabe, Demi, and Meagan were all on the floor. Some horror flick was on, which we tried to keep down since our son was asleep in the other room.

“Did we miss anything?” I inquired of our slightly excited friends, handing each of them their beer.

“Some couple got caught making out and had their throats slit,” Demi remarked.

“Lovely.”

“Could be worse,” Gabe said as he took a sip from his beer. “It could be us in that movie. We could have our heads sawed off, our eyes gauged out, our-”

“Shut it, Gabe.” Elisa hissed. The room began to take on the action of laughter, except for me. Noticing this, Hannah decided to make a comment.

“What’s wrong, Patrick? Something got you down?” Hannah inquired of me, in a mocking tone.

“I’m fine. I just know when Elisa is being serious, and when she is, you don’t want to laugh at it. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Elisa nodded in agreement.

“We’re just having a little fun.” Hannah defended.

“Fun can be dangerous; I have seen what could be called fun end badly so many times.” I retorted, a hint of annoyance tinging in my voice.

Hannah rolled her eyes, taking the hint to leave me alone, and went back to laughing with the group. They didn’t realize how serious I was being; hell, once I saw a guy’s head get chopped off because he made a joke about the Crimson Curse being on her period. And especially with the background Elisa had, it was better not to. Despite her being sweet, she had a dark side. One I had seen myself.

“Elisa Roberts can be dangerous. She just yelled at me, for Christ’s sake!” Gabe joked. “Her husband though…I don’t know how they’re together. He’s fedorable!”

“Never call me that again.” I threatened; as a fedora was the hat of choice for most of my endeavors, even back in the days IAL days, it was a nickname Pete used for me.

And there went my “no thinking of Pete” idea.

Gabe backed off, and the shenanigans went on as usual, but my mind kept going to Pete. He was always there in the back of my mind, reminding me how stupid I was. Reminding me how ridiculous this plan of running away with a rival assassin and having a child with her was. Reminding me how I would get caught, whether it was by him or a rival agency or even the US Government. And I think that no matter what happened, he would be with me. Whether one of us died, or I killed Elisa when I had the chance, or let Elisa run away and went back to Pete, he would be there. And I still don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“What do you think?” Elisa interrupted my thinking, making me realizing I had completely zoned out.

“Um,” I stuttered, trying to find the proper response. “I agree.”

“With who?”

“You, of course.”

“See?”

As much as I loved seeing my wife excited, I had no idea what she was talking about. My mind was on a completely different wavelength. So, in order to clear my mind, I decided to get some fresh air.

I excused myself from the gathering and stepped onto the front porch. It was a clear, beautiful night in New York, and autumn was beginning to make its approach on the trees surrounding us. It was dark out, as it was pretty late into the night, and it was chilly.

But the temperature was not why I saw a chill.

Straight ahead of me stood a man whom I knew way too well. Tattoos went up his arm, and while his dark black hair couldn’t be seen in the dark, I could see the outline of it. I knew who it was exactly the moment I saw him.

Pete.

_July 22, 2001  
Chicago, Illinois _

How I became an assassin was a bit of an anomaly to me. I was never good at sports, nor did I ever believe I was that smart. I guess there were two reasons I had become one; I was fantastic at strategy (leading to clean kills), and I was fucking Pete.

Now, when Pete and I first met, he was not the leader of the International Assassin League. He was second in command, but he wasn’t the leader. When we met, he was simply looking for recruits.

It was at a club show when we first met. Joe Trohman (also known as American Psycho) and I were attending it, despite us being underage. I don’t even remember who the band was, but I remember that they sucked. Badly.

“Why are we even here?” I asked Joe, who was using a fake ID to get both me and him beers. “We could get in a lot of trouble and this is an awful band. We could make a better band than that.”

“Hey, who bought your ticket and your booze here?” Joe retorted. “I say we stick around for a little while longer.”

“I don’t know about that, Joe.”

But, because I have been a pushover my entire life, I stayed. The band played a couple more crappy songs, and their set was over. A DJ took over for the rest of the night, and we sat around, drinking a few more beers and flirting with girls who would never go near us if it weren’t for the alcohol. Eventually, we were approached by this guy who was only an inch taller than myself (I’m 5’5). He had short, black hair and seemed like he was covered in tattoos (now that I think about it, he really wasn’t. He had a few, but compared to our trainer Andy, he was a clean canvas.) He was wearing a Green Day t-shirt and had a backpack on.

“Aren’t you guys a little young to be at a club like this?” The Stranger asked us.

“We have IDs-” Joes tried to explain, but he was cut off by the Stranger.

“I’m not a cop, or a bouncer. I’m just curious.”

Joe and I looked at each other, not trusting a damned word that came out of his mouth. “What do you want?” I spat out at him.

“Harsh,” the Stranger chuckled. “I was just going to say that you can do a hell of a lot better than some lame ass club, if you want to party.”

“I feel like this is how these kidnapping stories start.” I said.

“Some. But I promise you I’m not a kidnapper.”

“Are you a drug dealer or something? Because I want to know what you got.” Joe chimed in.

“I’ve got some pot, if you want.” The Stranger said.

“Deal.”

I looked at Joe like he was fucking insane, because he was, as the Stranger started to lead him out of the club. I decided to follow them, for some goddamned reason. I blame the alcohol. It never did me any good.

We go into the alleyway, where the Stranger took off his backpack and began to fish around for some marijuana. I began to internally panic; what the hell were we doing? Why were we buying pot from stranger? Joe loved to smoke, but even he knew this was dangerous. I guess the alcohol did him in, too.

“What are your names?” The Stranger asked us.

“Um, I’m Patrick,” I muttered. “And the kid who is buying pot from you is Joe.”

“I see. I’m Pete.” The Stranger, now known as Pete, told us. He pulled out a bag of pot, making Joe’s mouth water. “That’ll be sixty bucks.”

Joe pulled out his wallet and began to search for money, before realizing he came short at fifty-four dollars. “I don’t have that much.” He explained.

Pete didn’t answer; he simply stared off at something in the distance. “Hello?” Joe tried to grab his attention once again, but it didn’t work.

In a quick motion, Pete pulled out a .22 caliber pistol and aimed it in between Joe and me. Joe screamed just a tad loudly as we turned around to see who Pete was aiming at. It was two people dressed all in black, and had guns aimed at Pete and us. Joe and I shared a quick look as we ducked, letting the gunfire ring over our heads.

“What the fuck is happening?” I whispered to Joe. “This is your fault!”

“No, it isn’t!” Joe retorted.

“Who wanted to buy pot from some random fucking stranger? You did! And now we are probably going to be accessories to murder!”

“And that is my fault because I wanted pot?”

“Yes!” I shouted, the gunfire drowning my voice down.

We took a look at Pete, who was now hiding behind the dumpster. He didn’t look hurt, but from our angle we couldn’t tell. He popped out to shoot, but got hit in the shoulder. In a completely irrational move, I dove for his gun (again, alcohol talking.)

“What the hell are you doing?” Pete looked at me like I was fucking foolish, which to be honest, I was.

“Saving your ass,” I cockily whispered back to him.

I took a couple shots and completely missed (and somehow almost hit Joe, which caused him to get a tad angry with me.) I was shaking and terrified, yet for some reason I felt the need to help this guy out. I had only fired a gun once in my life at that point, so I had no clue what in the hell I was doing. I shot once more, trying to aim for one of the two goons who were attacking us.

To my surprise, I hit one of them.

“Fucker!” One of the goons shouted, and began to shoot at me.

I hid behind the dumpster and motioned for Pete to hide behind with me. “Dude, you have no fucking clue what you’re getting into.” Pete warned. “Let me take it from here.”

“Look, I got this.” I lied.

“No, you don’t. These are fucking professionals we are dealing with. I can handle this.”

“You got yourself shot.”

“Not the first time, nor will it be the last. I can handle myself. Hell, I get paid to do this.”

“Military? Cop?”

“Contract killer.” He simply stated.

My eyes widened…I was dealing with an assassin. My body began to be overcome by anxiety. We were still being attacked, probably by other assassins. I gave the gun back to Pete, who popped up and shot both of them in between the eyes. Joe screamed, and Pete grabbed me and then Joe and dragged us the hell out of there.

The next three hours of my life was spent in some shady doctor’s office while Pete got fixed up. When he came out, he had a smile on his face. Later on, I would recognize this face as his “I have an idea” face.

“I have an offer. Take it or leave it.”

_October 4, 2009_

I froze. I hadn’t seen the man in nearly a year and a half, and suddenly, he was here. I didn’t know what to do.

He seemed to sense I was there as well, as he turned around and smiled. “Hello, ‘Trick.”

“Pete.” I responded.

“Seem to be doing well for yourself, I presume?” He smirked.

“You could say that.”

“Heard you settled down. Got a wife and kid.”

“You heard correctly. Her name’s Elisa, and our son is Declan. We have a pretty good thing going over here.”

“Elisa,” he began as he stroked his chin, “as in Elisa Yao? Your last assignment?”

“Let’s just say, things got out of hand.”

“We kill, not fuck.”

“Well, as it turns out, the other way around is quite the better option.”

Pete sneered at this comment. “What are you doing for a job these days?”

“I manage a record store down the road.”

“You were always the musical type.”

“So were you.”

“You would be correct in that statement. And it’s better than jetting around the world, killing human beings, and being paid vast sums of money?”

“Precisely.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. I really am.”

I sighed as a question entered my head. “How’d you find me? And more importantly, why are you here?”

Pete didn’t answer either of those questions. Instead, he asked one of his own. “Why didn’t you ask me to leave?”

“How well do you perceive that going, Pete? I mean, I love you, but you’re not exactly one to take heartbreak well.”

“No, I guess you could say I’m not. But I could have promised you this; it would have gone a hell of a lot better than it’s about to, Mr. Richards. By the way, you should have stuck with Stump; it goes better with your name.”

My heart began to pound as I realize what he meant. He specifically tracked me down (though I kind of knew that from the beginning), and he wasn’t here as a friendly visit. In fact, friendly was the completely wrong term that should be used in this situation.

“You motherfucker.” I hissed at him. “When are they coming? Where are they?”

Pete smiled evilly. “They used a different door than you did.”

Screaming and gun shots rang through the air behind me.

~~~~

I was on the ground, beaten to a bloody pulp, as I looked at my former friends stand above me.

Joe, Hayley, Gerard, and Brendon, known professionally as American Psycho, Crimson Curse, Hesitant Alien, and the LA Devotee respectively, stared at me with cold eyes. I winced as Brendon spit on me once more, just for good measure.

All my friends…they were all dead. Each of them mowed down in seconds. Elisa was left alive to watch me be brutally beaten. She was still breathing, I hoped.

I nearly puked when I heard her screaming. I felt blood start to come up, and began to have a coughing fit. I tried to sit up, but Gerard kicked me in the face.

I heard Pete’s footsteps slowly walk over to my place. The four standing above me moved out of the way as Pete kneeled down and took out a .22 caliber gun.

“Do you find me sadistic?” He began, looking at me with somber eyes. “In some cases, yes, I would be. But not with you. You my Trickster, the love of my life…and you betrayed me. And yet, I still fucking love you. But with this, I think that can end. You were Soul Punk. You could have least died as my Soul Punk. So, trust me when I say, this is not fucking sadistic. This is well fucking deserved.”

He cocked the gun.

“Pete, please don’t hurt my son.” I begged.

A loud boom encompassed my ears as the world around me instantly went dark.

 


	2. 20 Dollar Nose Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year and a half before the incident at Patrick's house, he was an assassin. He was Soul Punk. This is a view into the world of the IAL, before Patrick left for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Welcome to Chapter 2! I'm glad you're still reading! 
> 
> I know this chapter and last chapter were pretty short, but I kind of knocked them both out in one sitting. The next chapters after this should be longer. Anyways, this chapter is one of many flashback chapters that will be written. It's meant to give an idea of what Patrick's relationships with Pete and his co-workers were like before he left. There will be more flashback chapters like this one, and they will probably be more detailed.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

_February 12, 2008  
Mexico_

The IAL compound, the place where Pete lived, was a beautiful Spanish home. It was right on the Gulf of Mexico, and was larger than anything I had ever seen in Chicago.

The driveway was practically a parking lot, and each of us had our space. A path led from the driveway to the main porch, which circled around the home. A second path from the main porch led to the dirt road that the house resided on.

I pulled into the driveway and into my particular parking spot, returning from an assignment in Alabama. Some asshole wanted his ex-wife dead, a common and now dull assignment. It had been the fourth assignment I had been on in a row, and I was hoping Pete would give me a break at some point.

But, knowing him, I knew he probably wouldn’t.  He was like this whenever we had gotten into an argument; he sent me on multiple assignments until he calmed down, and then when he finally got over the petty thing I did, we would be fan-fucking-tastic, and my assignment load would be brought back to normal.

It was a cycle that had been repeated many times over the past seven years.

I walked up the front door and knocked, awaiting a reply. Usually, I would be expecting Pete’s housekeeper Mikey (who also happened to be Pete’s ex, Gerard’s brother, and a former assassin; when Pete took over, he had Mikey’s contract terminated), but he was not who answered the door.

To my surprise, Brendon did.

“Look whose back.” He mocked.

“Hello, Brendon,” I greeted, letting myself into the grand entrance hall of the building; it was littered with expensive ass paintings. “What did I miss?”

“Hayley got suspended.” Brendon began to walk to the living room area, and I followed right behind him. “She botched a job in Taiwan, and got pissy when Pete got pissy.”

“Bad idea.”

“You’re telling me. Anyway, since we have one less member for the next two months, the other four of us are going to have a slightly larger workload.”

“That is, if Pete is still mad at me.”

I sat down on one of Pete’s plush couches; there were three in the living room. One across from his wooden fireplace (this is the one I sat on), and two on the sides, both across from each other. In the middle sat a coffee table, where magazines were scattered across. Above Pete’s fireplace sat a flat screen television, one of the most expensive available back in 2008. To my left was a sliding door that led into Pete’s garden. And to the left of that was the kitchen.

“I don’t think he is. He finally started to blabber on about how he misses you. Pretty disgusting, if you ask me.” Brendon stated as he sat down on the couch that was to my right and lit up a cigarette.

“I thought you quit?” I questioned.

“Quitting is for losers. Pete taught us that, remember?”

“I don’t think he meant cigarettes, but whatever. Where is he, anyway?”

“No fucking clue. He asked me to watch the house for a while. I don’t know why he asked me when he pays Mikey to do that fucking job. But guess what? Mikey is nowhere to be found either. It’s all a fucking conspiracy, I tell you.”

I rolled my eyes and began to read one of the magazines that lay on the coffee table. It was some stupid celebrity tabloid, but it still managed to keep me occupied for the next half hour I was stuck with Brendon. And I say stuck for a reason.

Brendon and I never got along, for some dumbass reason. It wasn’t that he was jealous of me or vice versa; it was simply a reason of our personalities clashing. I guess not everyone can get along, but it made it harder when he was around all the time. Hell, some days it felt like high school.

After a half-hour, fortunately, Pete came along. He didn’t seem to be in a grumpy mood, which I was happy about.

“Trick! You’re back!” He enthused, giving me a peck on the lips right after.

“I sure am.” I said.

“How was the assignment? It wasn’t too hard, right? Are you hurt?”

I chuckled. “I’m fine, Pete! It was an easy assignment. Though I had to kill the chick’s new guy as well. He got in the way.”

“Splendid. How did you do it?”

“Cut the guy’s throat, and then put a bullet in the girl’s head.” I explained. I was never one to share gory details of my assignments. It wasn’t because of guilt (I had managed to repress that years ago), but it was because I simply didn’t like talking about them.

“Well, I’m glad it was an easy assignment. Brendon, I have to talk to you for a moment. I’ve got an assignment for you.” Pete said, going into the kitchen and grabbing a manila folder.

“It isn’t housesitting, right? Because that’s a boring ass assignment.” Brendon stated. “Where is Mikey, anyway?”

“Mikey is no longer with us.”

“He got fired?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what Pete meant. Not wanting to know what Mikey did to get himself killed, I kept my mouth shut.

“Now, Brendon, this assignment isn’t going to be easy, but it shouldn’t be extremely difficult. You’re taking out a wealthy stock trader in the Big Apple, and he has a lot of security around. This usually would be a partnered assignment, but I have an assignment for Patrick here and Joe and Gerard are already on assignment at the moment. And of course, Hayley will be taking a break for a couple months.” Pete explained.

I tried to hide the groan coming out of my mouth, but I could not. This resulted in a glare from Pete.

“You got it.” Brendon said.

“His information and your boarding pass are all in the folder. Your flight leaves in a few hours; better get ready.”

“Alright. See you fuckwads later!”

With that, Brendon exited the compound, leaving Pete and me alone. Pete grabbed another manila folder from the counter and handed it to me.

“I know you’ve been on a lot of assignments lately, but this is one only you are qualified to do.” Pete tried to clarify.

“And why is that?” I pouted.

“Because this is going to require a lot of determination that the others don’t have. You’re killing a fellow assassin.”

I opened up the folder and looked over the assignment: she was an assassin all right. A pretty damned good one, too. Her name was Elisa Yao, codename Miss Green. She worked for the Assortment of Color Assassination Squad (ACAS; their motto was always that it was not based on race.) She was a Filipina girl, who was specialized in guns, knives, and strategy; my specialties as well. Her number of kills was quite high; in fact, the profile specifically stated she was one of the deadliest women in the world.

“What makes you think I am the man for this job?”

“She’s one of the deadliest women in the world, and you’re one of the deadliest men in the world. And you’re a fantastic actor.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Because this is an inside job. Her boss wants her dead. You’re going in and pretend to work for Mr. Black, and will kill her while ‘working’ for him, after gaining her trust.”

“Wait, why can’t I just fight her?”

“Her boss paid extra for it to be done this way, as he wants to know you did it right and as she is vulnerable when she is around people she trusts.”

“How long should this take?”

“As long as it needs to.” Pete said.

“Will I still be able to talk to you?” I inquired.

“Of course. We will be in constant communication, so you can give me updates and so I can make sure you are alive.”

I sighed; I didn’t want to go on another assignment, especially a long term one. However, I didn’t have a choice. I looked at my ticket, and to my relief, my flight wouldn’t be leaving for a day.

“I decided to give you a break,” Pete lovingly said to me. “I want to spend some time with you before you leave.”

We smiled at each other. I think you can tell what happened next.

_April 1, 2008  
Los Angeles, California_

Pete always told me that as long as the end worked out in your favor, the means didn’t matter. You get the job done, and that’s that. That’s how I justified my behavior with Elisa.

Pete would have sworn to me that it was fine, if I had actually killed her. I probably wouldn’t have told him though; he would have been beyond pissed at me.

I left for California on February 13, and began “working” for the ACAS, under the codename of “Mr. Turquois.” Elisa and I went on a few partnered assignments together, and somehow, managed to hit it off instantly. Even though I was supposed to kill her, I liked her. A lot. And I guess she liked me a lot, because after an assignment that nearly got us killed, we fucked.

I honestly don’t know how I could have described my relationship with Elisa during those two months. We weren’t exactly dating, but we were more than friends. Besides, I wouldn’t have dared called Elisa my anything. I belonged to Pete. He was my boyfriend, the love of my life. He was the only person I would ever call that.

On April 1st, everything changed. And it started with a phone call.

I was reading in my hotel room when I got the call from Pete. Elisa was in the shower at the time, after just getting back from an appointment.

“Hello?”

_“Hey, Trick!”_

“Pete! Hey, baby. How are you?”

_“I’m alright. I miss you a lot, and things are pretty fucking stressful. Hayley is still suspended for a few more days, and the other three are getting a pretty good sized assignment load. They’re getting pretty pissed. Hell, I’m thinking of taking an assignment myself, just so they can shut the fuck up!”_

“Hayley will be back soon; hopefully that will lighten the load.”

_“Hopefully. I’m more worried about you. How is the assignment going?”_

“It’s…difficult. She’s a tricky one, and I can’t tell if I have gained her trust yet or not. I don’t know how much longer it will be.”

_“Just get it over with. I need my Pattycakes.”_

“I thought we agreed not to call me that?”

_“That’s what you get for taking too long. Look, I know you can be a bit of a perfectionist, but get this over with soon. We are counting on it.”_

“I will, babe. Miss Green will be taken care of soon enough.”

_“Good. Now, I think Joe just got back from his assignment, and I’m prepared for some bitching. So, I have to go. I love you.”_

“I love you too, Pete. Good luck.”

After saying our goodbyes, I hung up my phone and set it on my bed. I began to continue reading my book, but I heard the cocking of a gun. As if it was muscle memory, I threw my book to the side and pulled out my gun at the source.

I guess I didn’t realize Elisa was listening in on my conversation with Pete.

“So, I guess the Soul Punk was a backstabber all along. I should have known.” Elisa spat out.

“It’s now what you think, Miss Green. By the way, I think with our forms of interactions over the past few weeks, I think we have arrived at a place less formal than assassin names.” I said.

“Okay then, Patrick. Explain yourself. Are you still working with Arma Angelus?”

Arma Angelus was Pete’s codename.

“Yes.” I managed to mutter out.

“Of course you are. What is going with you two? There were multiple rumors that you two were a bit of an item.”

“You could say that. But it’s not like it’s the best thing for me.”

And I wasn’t lying when I said that. The cycle we seemed to go through, where he would get pissed at me and send me on multiple assignments in a row, kept occurring a lot more than it had. I don’t know why, but we were having issues in 2008. I loved him, yes. I loved him more than any human being I have ever met, besides my son of course. And yet, at times, it felt like I was trapped in a cage.

“Why shouldn’t I shoot you and get this over with right now, Elisa?” I coldly asked.

She sighed. “Put your gun down.”

“Why?”

“Because I have something to tell you. And I’m only going to say it once.” She said, an icy tone overtaking her normally sweet voice.

She motioned for me to put my gun down. Hesitantly, I did, and she followed suit.

“Patrick,” she began, “my appointment wasn’t a meeting with my boss. It was a meeting with a doctor. The past few days, I had been feeling sick. I’ve been craving mushrooms, which I fucking hate. And I’m two days late. I went to the doctor to confirm my suspicious, and they were confirmed alright. I’m pregnant. And it is your baby.”

“Why should I believe that?” I hissed.

“Because I wouldn’t stoop that low. I have more respect for myself and my opponent than that.”

“Plausible. Why should I believe it is mine?”

“You’re the only man I’ve slept with for the past two months, and unlike you, I don’t cheat on people.”

It was a cold blow, but it was one that convinced me. Elisa, despite being a murderer, had respect for people. Especially those whom she cared about. You didn’t have to know her long to know that.

“I’m going to give you a proposition, Patrick. I’m going to book a ticket to New York City, under the alias of Elisa Roberts. I have a house up there, for when I want to get away. You can come with me, quit this whole life, and start a family. Or, you can go back to Arma Angelus. I’ll fake my death either way, and if you want to go, I’ll fake yours. I only have one plea: please don’t kill me.” Elisa suggested and pleaded.

I thought about it for a moment. I never really wanted to be a killer. And as much as I loved Pete, I had always wanted to be a dad. And I already loved that kid subconsciously. I set my gun down on the bed.

“When do we leave?”

I took the name Patrick Richards, while she kept Elisa Roberts. We boarded a flight to New York four hours later, leaving everything and everyone behind.

And despite everything, I don’t regret it.

 _February 4, 2013_  
Brooklyn Heart Hospital   
New York City, New York

The world was dark. Once in a while, a sound would sneak in, but I didn’t recognize it. For all intents and purposes, I was unconscious.

Until I wasn’t.

The first thing to come back was sound. I could hear the beeping of the monitors next to me.

Then, it was touch. Then the sense of smell returned. Then taste (by the way, when you’ve been in a coma for three and a half years, your mouth tastes fucking horrible.)

Then sight.

I didn’t know where I was; everything was bright. Everything terrified me.

So what do you do when you’re terrified?

Scream.

That was a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You're awesome! By the way, there will be more Peterick fluff in future flashback chapters. So don't worry about that. Also, I noticed a mistake in Chapter 1 where Patrick and Elisa had different last names, and instead of fixing it, I decided to give them different last names. So, it is now intentional (even though it originally wasn't.) If you guys find any mistakes, please let me know. 
> 
> Again, thanks for reading!


	3. Tell That Pete He Just Made My List of Things To Do Today

_I heard Pete’s footsteps slowly walk over to my place. The four standing above me moved out of the way as Pete kneeled down and took out a .22 caliber gun._

_“Do you find me sadistic?” He began, looking at me with somber eyes. “In some cases, yes, I would be. But not with you. You were my Trickster, the love of my life…and you betrayed me. And yet, I still fucking love you. But with this, I think that can end. You were Soul Punk. You could have least died as my Soul Punk. So, trust me when I say, this is not fucking sadistic. This is well fucking deserved.”_

_He cocked the gun._

_“Pete, please don’t hurt my son.” I begged._

_A loud boom encompassed my ears as the world around me instantly went dark._

~~~~

The memory of the last event I was conscious for flashed before my eyes.

Pete’s eyes making contact with mine, not removing them as he put a bullet in my head.

Elisa’s screaming.

My old friends betraying me.

My new friends being murdered by them.

And my son…oh god, my son. I had no idea what Pete did with him, if he just left him there or killed him with the rest of the guests who just happened to be unlucky enough to be in my house that particular night.

And then a different thought popped into my head: _how long has it been?_

The pondering of the last events I witnessed was interrupted by a nurse who looked quite scattered. It was understandable, as a patient had just screamed loudly. Her breathing was labored; it was obvious that she had run in from down the hall.

“Are you alright? Holy shit, you’re awake. Fuck…excuse my language. Do you need anything to drink?” The nurse, whose nametag read “Molly”, questioned me.

“No, than-” It was only then that I realized how scratchy my voice was, and how dry my throat was. “Actually, yes, I’ll take that water please.”

Molly smiled, and proceeded to pour me some water. I barely managed to sit up, my arms weak from no use. It was a surprise that I was able to use them at all. I looked outside and saw snow on the ground. I only hoped it had just been an early snowfall.

“How do you feel?” Molly asked innocently.

“I…I,” I didn’t even know how to describe it. I was confused, groggy, hungry, thirsty, and pissed off all rolled into one super emotion. “How long?”

She gave me a pity sigh. “Three. Three years.”

Fuck. “Oh.”

I let this sink into my brain for a moment. Three years. I lost three years of my life, because of that selfish prick. I lost three years with my son, whom I didn’t even know was alive. He could have been long dead by now. Or, he could have been adopted into a good family. Or an abusive one.

My baby boy was all that I could think about. Well, he wasn’t a baby anymore. He would have been around four, if he was still alive. Which, I didn’t know if he was or not. And I know this nurse wouldn’t either, so I decided against probing her with questions about him.

“Just so you know, the date is February 4, 2013,” Molly began, sitting down next to bed as she handed me the glass of water. “I know you have a lot of questions, such as why this happened to you and who did it. And what even happened, as I don’t know what you remember. All I know is that when Mr. Way’s representatives arrive here, they will have all the answers.”

 _Mr. Way?_ I paused for a second. “Do you say Mr. Way as in...Gerard Way?”

“Yes, sir.”

FUCKER. Anger now taking over me, I threw the water in the bitch’s face and tried to climb out of my bed, but she punched me in the face in an attempt to stop me. A smirk over took her as she pulled out a syringe, filled with an ugly red liquid. She grabbed my left arm and pinned the rest of my body down by using her body weight.

“This liquid will knock you out for the next hour. I know you just spent the past three and a half years of your life unconscious, but I need to sedate you. Mr. Way’s representatives will be here shortly.” Molly said, jamming the needle into my arm.

I tried to fight back, but it was futile. Blackness began to cloud my vision once again as I drifted into a sleep, one that felt much different than the coma that I had been in for three years.

~~~~

Upon waking up, I heard hushed voices.

One thing about being a successful assassin was learning how to eavesdrop properly. Fortunately for me, they still believed I was asleep. So, I pretended to be asleep.

 _“What did Gerard say?”_  A familiar female voice, a voice who I once knew as Molly, said.

 _“He wants to make an offer with him.”_ An unfamiliar male voice said; scratchiness was a prominent factor in his voice. I guessed he was a smoker.

 _“An offer?”_ Molly asked.

 _“Yes,”_ the scratchy-voiced male started, _“an offer. Gerard wants Pete dead as much as Patrick probably does. He wants to work with him.”_

 _Good try, Gerard._ There was no way in hell I was going to go anywhere near that motherfucker, not after what he did to me. Even if it was for killing Pete. The only way I was ever going to see that man again, was if I was going to kill him myself.

Pissed off, I officially woke up. I tried to make a grand escape, but found myself handcuffed to the bed. The rattling noises it made attracted the attention of the Gerard’s men, who walked over to my bedside.

“Hello, Patrick.” The scratchy-voiced representative greeted. “I’m Starry Night, and my colleague over here is The Scream. We work for an old friend of yours, Mr. Gerard Way.”

“Fuck off.” I spat at them, both figuratively and literally.

“Fiesty one,” The Scream muttered.

“I guess. Look, Patrick, I know you’re pissed, but we have an offer.” Starry Night said.

“Take your offers and shove them up your ass!” I shouted, not caring who heard me. I started to get curious on how the hospital didn’t understand what the fuck was happening here.

“Patrick, now-”

“Look, fucker. You have three seconds to unlock me from this bed.” I threatened.

“It’s not wise to threaten us, Patrick. Now, Gerard-”

“I don’t give a fuck about Gerard! Where’s Pete? Where the fuck is he?”

“That’s what our offer is about, Patrick. Gerard wants Mr. Wentz dead as much as you do, and he wants your help with it. The two of you together could destroy that fucker.” Starry Night explained.

That was bullshit. Pete was stronger than any of his assassins combined. There was a reason he rose to the top so quickly. Nonetheless, that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was getting out of this fucking hellhole. I wanted to cuss them out and fight back, but in my current condition, that was a tad impossible.

So, I retorted to a Plan B.

“As mad as I am at Gerard, I want Pete dead more.” That wasn’t a lie. “I accept.” That was.

“Splendid.” Starry Night exclaimed.

“Will you let me go now?”

“Of course, Mr. Stump.”

“Molly” handed Starry Night a key, and he began to unlock me. He pulled me into a sitting position on the side of the bed and began to speak.

“You are going to need physical therapy and extensive training, but Gerard will have that covered. We will schedule you a-”

That’s when I plucked his eye out.

Starry Eye shrieked in pain, and The Scream pulled out a gun. “Bad call, fucker.” Scream said.

Scream shot at me, but I used Starry Night as a shield. As a result, Starry Night took a bullet in his back. I don’t know if that is what killed him, but l heard later on that he died at the scene. I grabbed his gun from his holster and shot at Scream. I missed the first time, but got him in the stomach the second time. He fell to the ground, incapacitated.

At this point, “Molly” pulled out a gun of her own.

“Stump, just so you know, you’re playing with some big dogs here.” She tried to threaten.

“Fuck off. I was one of the deadliest men in the world, who worked for the deadliest man in the world. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” I stated.

“You lost your touch. There’s a reason Pete shot you.”

“Low blow, Molly. Now, I have to ask; where’s Pete?”

“Nobody fucking knows. He dropped off the face of the earth years ago.”

“Then where’s Andy Hurley?”

She shook her head. “Like I’ll tell you where he is. He’ll help you hurt Gerard!”

“Because Gerard fucking deserves it! So do the rest of those fuckers. You work for Gerard, correct?”

“Yes. I’m his second in command.”

“He’s an assassin still?”

“Kind of. He works for the Government, now. They tell him who they want offed, and he has one of us do it. He calls us the “Avant Gardes.” “Molly” clarified. “All of us named after different art pieces. I’m Mona Lisa.”

“Ah. Well, I’m just going to let you know something, Mona Lisa. Soon, Gerard will rue the day. And you’re going to aid me in that. And if you don’t, then you’ll have a bullet in between your eyes quicker than you could ever see coming.”

“Like I should fucking believe you.”

“Look at your colleagues. They look pretty dead, don’t they?”

“It wasn’t clean.”

As to show an example, I decided to shoot a vase that sat in the corner of the room. It exploded, causing the flowers and water inside of it to fall to the floor.

“That was luck.” Mona Lisa scoffed.

“Look, bitch. You’re going to do what I say or you’re going to regret it.” I menaced. “You’re young, and you’re far too pretty to be working for a scumbag like Gerard. Don’t get wrapped into this life. Do this thing for me, and you can be free. I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re protected.”

“Again, why should I believe you?”

“Because, you know deep down, this isn’t the life for you. Help me, and you’re out.”

Mona Lisa took a deep breath. One talent I had was persuasion, and it looks like I managed to strike a chord with her. She put her gun down, me doing the same, and grabbed a wheelchair. She helped me sit down in it and we exited the hospital. I don’t believe I ever checked out.

She did say one thing me on our way out.

“Mona Lisa is my codename. If I get an out, I get an out. Don't call me Mona Lisa; call me Marina.”

_February 5, 2013  
Chinese Countryside_

Hayley Williams was a fantastic assassin. Was being the key word.

She and I had always been close, and after the incident in Brooklyn, she was furious at both herself and Pete. She couldn’t believe she went along with it. She couldn’t believe Pete actually did it. She knew he was mad; she would have been too, but damn. That was harsh, in her words.

So, as of January 1, 2010, her contract was terminated. Hayley had decided to remove herself as far away as she could from Pete, and that landed her in China. She lived in a small cottage, with limited access to the outside world. All she had was a phone to communicate with people.

And one day, that phone rang. And the last person she wanted to speak with was on the other line.

 _“Miss Williams,”_ Pete greeted.

“Fuck off, Pete.”

_“Hayley, I know we aren’t pleasant terms at the moment, but you need to come out to Mexico. Immediately.”_

“Why?”

_“He’s awake.”_

Hayley’s eyes widened, but common sense got the better of her.

“I don’t care. He deserves to do whatever he wants to us.”

_“Hayley…”_

“Goodbye, Pete.”

_“Wait. Look, just because we deserve it, doesn’t mean we can’t fight. We don’t give up; that’s not what we are as an IAL. Patrick would want to duel you; one last battle.”_

Hayley pondered this for a moment. She knew Pete was right; I would have wanted a battle with her (I did.) But she also knew that she could handle herself when the time came. She didn’t need Pete’s help.

Not anymore.

She simply hung up and walked away.

~~~~

Andy was in Vegas.

He and I had always been close, even from the beginning. He was a damn fine trainer, and I always pictured myself as his favorite of the squad. He would help with physical therapy, to get me on my feet (literally). He would help me with whatever plan of action I would take next.

And I knew what it would be.

Three and a half years. That’s how much life I missed. I missed my little boy growing up. I missed world events. I had my life ripped away from me, and somehow lived to tell the tale.

No one fucks over Soul Punk and gets away with it.

I’m going to get my revenge on those fuckers who did this to me, and the asshole responsible.

I’m going to kill Joe.

I’m going to kill Hayley.

I’m going to kill Gerard.

I’m going to kill Brendon.

And finally…

I’m going to kill Pete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you find any mistakes, please let me know.


	4. The Patron Saints of Liars and Fakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete meets with the former IAL assassins to discuss Patrick's awakening.

Gerard Way drove down a dirt Mexican rode, music blasting at full volume.

Despite it being February, it was still warm in this part of Mexico. But he was used to the warmth; he was in Mexico for nearly fifteen years, and he has spent the past two in Hawaii.

He was driving down to visit a man he screwed over years ago. Despite what had happened between the two, this man needed to visit Gerard to discuss a very important topic.

Yours truly, Patrick Stump.

Gerard was a smart man; he knew exactly why his actions towards me were wrong. He knew exactly why being an assassin was wrong. He just lacked an extremely important part of the human psyche: empathy.

We all did, in some ways or another.

About two years prior to my sudden awakening, Gerard and Pete were having some issues in their work relationship, over monetary reasons and the fact that Pete had killed Gerard’s brother. Around the same time, Gerard had been asked to work for the government as their own personal assassin. So, Gerard terminated his contract with Pete and left.

Not without having some revenge of his own: he snitched on Pete.

Luckily, Pete had been alerted of this, and was able to clear out of his villa before the feds came by and arrested his sorry ass. After that, no one knew where the fuck Pete had gone. He had dropped off the face of the earth.

With Gerard’s departure, the IAL was no more. Gerard and Brendon were the only two members from my days as an assassin left (there were a couple more whom I had never met; one to replace me, one to replace Hayley, and one to replace Joe.) After Pete’s sudden “disappearance”, the other four were let go from their contract. I don’t know what happened to the three newbies (I guessed they were all killed at some point; I was sort of right.) Brendon had continued his career as an assassin, only he went rogue. He was self-employed, so to speak.

In fact, these days, Gerard didn’t do any assassinations himself. When the Government wanted somebody off, Gerard would send his personal army, the Avant Gardes, to do the dirty work for him.

And due to government protection and his personal army, Gerard was untouchable.

Gerard had two of his assassin/soldiers with him as he pulled into Pete’s new villa, Cooperstown Quarters (Pete had a bit of a fascination with baseball). The house had more of a Victorian feel to it than the old IAL compound did. A circular driveway sat in front of the home.

As a whole, the house was smaller than Pete’s previous one. But since he wasn’t running an international assassination organization out of this one, he didn’t need something big. He just needed protection.

Getting out of his slightly beat up rental car, Gerard walked up to the front door of the home. He didn’t even get a chance to knock before an old friend of his opened the door: Joe Trohman.

“Hey, Gerard.” Joe greeted with an annoyed tone to his voice.

“Joe-troh! How have you been?” Gerard mockingly exclaimed, walking into the home. He and Joe had never been that friendly with each other.

“Fuck off.” Joe muttered, getting out of Gerard’s way (no pun intended.)

In contrast to Pete’s previous mansion, there was no entrance hall. The front door led straight into the living room, where a cozy, leather loveseat sat across from a flat screen television. Pete’s coffee table from the old compound sat in the middle. To the right of this scene, an arch led into a hallway that was the path to exploring the rest of the house.

Sitting on the loveseat was Brendon, who was polishing his knife. Pete was pacing back and forth in between the coffee table and the television.

Joe and Gerard walked into the living room, with Gerard taking the open spot on the loveseat. Joe rolled his eyes, and sat on the floor next to the loveseat.

“Everyone is here. Fantastic.” Pete said.

“What about Hayley?” Joe questioned.

‘Um, Hayley isn’t joining us today. She has a rather strong opinion of the topic that is going to be under discussion.” Pete clarified.

“Patrick.” Brendon stated bluntly.

“Bingo. As you all know, because I told you over the phone, his little coma appears to be over. He’s awake.” Pete told them my current condition.

“And the little fucker killed two of my representatives!” Gerard shouted. Since I did not work with him, he officially had it out for me.

“And he’s going to kill you too, if we don’t think of a plan soon.”

“Why should we? We fucked him over, brutally. We killed his wife right in front of his eyes. We killed his friends. And we tried to kill him. Shouldn’t we expect, and let him, have his revenge, if he chooses to go that route?” Joe said.

“He would want you to fight him. Yes, he has every right to his revenge. And I do want him to win. However, that doesn’t mean we can’t have a fight.”

“We all know this. So, why the fuck did you pull us all together? What plan do you have?” Brendon stated, not really caring about the revenge thing.

“I want you all to train. For a week, at least. I have a couple different trainers around the world that I would like to send you all to.”  Pete explained.

“What the fuck? No. I have a busy life! I have a tour starting soon!” Joe yelled.

“I know,” Pete began, “your trainer is near Paris. You’ll still have time to refresh for your tour, okay? You guys just need to practice a little bit. My guess is Patrick won’t be coming for a couple months. He needs to practice as well. So, since you all are his opponents, you should do the same. Give him a fair fight.”

“You know, had you not done your little stunt in Brooklyn, we wouldn’t be in this situation! You could have just let it go.”

“Perhaps. But he hurt me, and I overreacted a little bit. He let me think he was dead for over a year! I know, it was probably wrong, but you can understand that. Besides, would you tell Patrick the same thing?”

Joe paused. “No. You tried to kill him, and you killed his wife and friends. He simply broke up with you. Now, I really don’t want to be near any of you. I’m out of here.”

Joe got up to leave, not caring what they thought.

“Are you taking the training?” Pete asked.

“Fuck no.”

“Your funeral.”

“Ditto.”

With that, Joe left the compound.

When everything went down in Brooklyn, Joe had resisted. He had resisted to the end, but he still had to go through with it. And he felt extremely guilty. Right after the massacre, Joe terminated his contract with Pete and ran away to Paris. He took on a new name, and went off the radar.

That is, until he started a band.

His band, The Damned Things, took off as quickly as it had started. Within a year of its formation, the group had had a number one single and album under their belts. Joe had always wanted to be in a band; hell, he had tried to get me to create one with him back in 2001; you know, before everything with being an assassin got in the way. He got his wish, and got to live out his dream of being a rock star. Good for fucking him.

I guess I was the maddest at Joe, besides Pete. He had been my best friend since childhood, and he still fucking did that to me. I know he was probably threatened death, but shit. He betrayed me. He fucking betrayed me. And now he got to live out his dream and be happy and shit.

He told me later on that he always had an incredible weight on his shoulders from the guilt of his actions. That, I was pretty happy about.

But Joe also wasn’t stupid; he knew he had whatever I wanted to do coming for him. And knowing me and the situation, he knew he would probably be dead soon. And he deserved it.

And he also knew that I wasn’t the most saint like man ever, and that someday, I would get whatever was coming for me. But until that day, it was him who deserved to die.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is a shorter one, but I felt like it was better being solely about the IAL assassins than Patrick. We will go back to Patrick's story next chapter though, and we'll get to meet Andy. Anyways, thanks for reading! Let me know if you find any mistakes!


	5. The Phoenix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day? Woo! Enjoy!

In case you didn’t know previously, Brooklyn to Las Vegas is one hell of a drive.

Being unable to use the lower half of my body, Marina had taken over 100% of the driving. This required constant caffeine stops, and we eventually ended up stopping at a motel twice. I was fine with this, as the long drive was wearing me out and I was doing shit. I could only imagine how Marina felt.

At some point, I think when we were in Nebraska, we began to talk about our lives.

“When’s your birthday?” Marina asked.

“April 27th, 1984.” I stoically answered.

“October 10, 1985. Born in Southern Wales.”

“When’d you move to the US?”

“I was twenty; I had been hired in the ACAS.”

This actually peaked my interest. “What was your codename?”

“I was Miss Blue. I didn’t work there for very long; I went rogue soon after.”

“How in the hell did you become an assassin?”

“It was a similar situation to the one you’re currently in. My dad was killed by Mr. Black when I was younger. I saw the fucker do it.”

“And your revenge was to work for him?”

“Precisely. I wanted all the dirt I could have on him, so I could humiliate him when I killed him.”

“I was with the ACAS for a while. How come we didn’t meet?”

“You were with them?”

“Well, ‘with.’ I was on assignment, actually. It was one similar to your reasoning to work with them, only Mr. Black was in on it. I was sent to kill one of your very own.” I clarified.

“Who?”

“Miss Green, real name Elisa Yao.”

“Wasn’t that your wife?”

“Things didn’t go as planned.”

Marina seemed to take the subtle hint I was giving to drop the subject of Elisa. “When were you with the ACAS?”

“February to April 2008.”

“That makes more sense.” Marina stated. “I was suspended during that time.”

“Botched a job?”

“Not at all. One of the clients we had was hitting on me, so I slit his throat.”

“Jesus.”

“Fucker deserved it. Anyways, apparently he was really rich and one of our best clients, so Mr. Black suspended me for six months.”

“Did you ever get to kill him?”

“Of course I did. It was the day the ’08 Olympics started. I had managed to seduce him, and proceeded to bite his dick off. As he screamed in pain, I disemboweled him.”

“Fuck, you’re evil.” I cringed at the thought.

Marina simply laughed. “He deserved it. I went rogue after that, until Gerard hired me last year.”

“Well, you’re experienced alright. How long have you wanted out?”

“As long as I’ve been in it. I only joined to kill Mr. Black, and then I had to spend the next four years of my life running from his people.”

I nodded in understanding.

“Did you expect Pete to find you, in Brooklyn?” Marina asked me, each word coming slowly as if she was testing the waters to see if I was okay with being asked this.

I shook my head. “Well, I mean, kind of. I knew I’d see him again, deep down. I knew that I couldn’t escape him forever. But did I expect him to perform a coup de grace on me by busting a cap in my crown? I would say not.”

Marina nodded.

I decided to ask my own question; it wasn’t one relating to our histories, but one that related to today. I don’t know why I even thought it was a possibility for her to know the answer to this, but I had to ask it. It was all I could think about, and I had never had the chance to ask it.

“Do you know what happened to my son, Declan?” I asked, my voice cracking in desperation.

Marina shook her head. “I wish I could tell you the answer to that, but I don’t know. It’s been a while since I read up on the massacre, since Gerard doesn’t like us looking his past actions up, but I don’t remember a baby being found at the scene, dead or alive. I would have remembered reading that part of it.”

“Got it.”

“I wish I knew more, and I’m sorry about that.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

A sad silence filled the air as we continued the drive down the interstate. I somberly looked out the window, trying to imagine where my son could be, or even who he could be. He would be about four nowadays, if he was still alive. If he was, he would have learned to walk and talk by now. He’d be in preschool, beginning to learn how to be a human.

And I was fucking missing it, if that was the case. The reason I left Pete and my old life behind was so I wouldn’t miss it. My son was my everything, and he’d been ripped away from me.

Another reason I couldn’t let those fuckers go unavenged.

A half hour passed until one of us spoke again.

“Can I ask you a question about Pete?” Marina questioned.

“Sure.” I agreed.

“How’d you guys fall in love? I mean, I know you guys met at some club, but I hate the part in love stories where they first meet. It’s always so fucking awkward, and that’s like the least important part of the story. Unless you’re the show How I Met Your Mother, of course.” Marina chuckled at her own joke. “So, I wanna know; how did you fall head over heels for the guy?”

_October 14, 2001  
Mexico_

“Andy, what the fuck? We ran earlier, and then you nearly fucking killed me. And now you want me to run seven miles? Seriously?” Joe groaned.

I sat in the living room of the compound, laughing at Joe’s misery. Despite only being seventeen, Joe and I had been lured into being assassins. We did it solely for the money (and the guy who offered the position to us was hot, but I totally don’t let that factor into my decisions).

Now, are you wondering how two underage kids managed to become assassins? It was simple: Joe and I had been emancipated at sixteen. Joe’s parents were slightly more on the abusive side, and I had been kicked out because I was bisexual. We had been living in a crappy apartment together after moving out, both of us playing music to make some cash. We were poor as hell, so when we got the option to become highly paid assassins, we had to set our morals aside.

Anyways, we couldn’t go right into the job. We were required to take a six month training regime, with the league’s trainer Andy. Three months in, we could begin going on assignments with experienced members of the group.

Our routine was simple: Joe would train from 8-12, and then I would train from 1-5. It was intense training, but it helped us out a ton in the long run. It was ten thirty, meaning my shift was a couple hours away still.

I was eating a bowl of cereal in the living room and reading a magazine as Andy forced Joe to go on his run. Soon after Joe’s departure (he muttered something about it being ‘too fucking hot’ on his way out), Pete arrived at the compound. I hadn’t seen him in a couple days, as he had been on assignment.

“Trick!” He exclaimed as he walked into the living room.

“Hey, Pete.” I greeted, trying to push my awkwardness down to a minimum (who doesn’t get awkward around their crushes?) “How was the assignment?”

“It was fun. I got to Morocco, got to off some drug lord out there.” He was practically giddy.

“I’m glad to hear it!”

“You would have loved it, Trick. Morocco is beautiful; when we get some time off, I should take you up there.”

“Oh, yeah? And what would we be doing in Morocco?”

“You know all that touristy crap couples do when they are on their honeymoon? We would be doing exactly that. And we would take so many pictures.”

“You know how much I hate tourist stuff.”

“We would make fun of it! We’d be a walking satire. It’d be fun, Trick. You’d like it.”

With that said, the runner of the operation walked into the room. Jeffrey Jackson, a tall African American man with brown eyes and jet black hair, had inherited the mansion from his father. Jeffrey’s father was the founder of the IAL in the 80s, and when he died in 1994, Jeffrey took over.

Jeffrey’s codename was Superman, taking after his favorite superhero. He and Pete had almost a father-son relationship, as Jeffrey had no children of his own. He credited Pete as being one of his best assassins back then, and made sure he would be the next person to take over the operation if he (Jeffrey) were to die. (He did die, by the way. April 6, 2003. Pete took over that night.)

“Arma Angelus, Soul Punk! Just the people I wanted to see!” Jeffrey said; he always referred to his workers by their codenames, to be “formal.” Pete had obviously done away with this when he took over.

“Hey, boss.” Pete shook Jeffrey’s hand.

“I have an assignment for the two of you.” Jeffrey pulled out the stereotypical manila folder from under his arm, containing the details of our assignments.

“And what would that be?” I sarcastically asked.

“Tokyo. Ren Taniguchi. He runs an assassination company much like ours, and a few months ago, we had one of our own assassinate one of his own. He didn’t like that, so he had the particular member offed.”

I knew who he was talking about; some guy named Vic. Apparently, I replaced him.

“So, since I don’t take kindly to that type of thing, I want him dead. I believe both of you can do it. I know it’s a big assignment for you, Patrick, but if Pete can handle it, so can you. You have the potential to be just as great someday.” Jeffrey said.

I didn’t care how “large” the assignment was. I was excited; I had an assignment with Pete, and it was a damned good one.

I snatched the manila folder from Jeffrey’s hands and opened the folder. Boarding passes lay inside of it, which didn’t leave for another seven hours. Pete groaned; he hated back to back assignments. That was one plus about having him as a boss: he didn’t make us go on multiple assignments back to back of each other. He gave us at least a one day break.

Unless he was mad at me, of course. Then all bets were off.

“Do what you need to do to off the guy,” Jeffrey began. “Also, Pete, before you leave for the airport, stop by. I wanna hear the gory details of your escapade in Morocco.”

~~~~

The first half our assignment in Tokyo went…rough. We had broken into Taniguchi’s compound, but were quickly caught. We fought them off, but soon enough, I was blasted with rock salt. I don’t know how Pete faired after that.

I woke up, tied up in a chair. It was one of those stereotypical action movie villain interrogation rooms, but I appeared to be alone. That is, like the stereotypical action movie villain, Taniguchi appeared from the darkness.

“Soul Punk? You must be new.” Taniguchi spoke in full out Japanese. I managed to understand, as I had been taking several language classes as part of my training. Japanese was part of this. Of course, I wasn’t fluent, but I knew enough to get by.

“Hello, sir.” I said back, my Japanese obviously lacking.

“What makes you think an amateur could take me down? Arma Angelus I believe could, but you? Please, you don’t look a day over fourteen.”

“Fuck off.”

“Calm down, Soul Punk. It’s cute how you want to be an assassin, but that’s going to come to an end. Should have stayed in America, stupid boy.”

As if it was exactly the plot of a cheesy movie, Taniguchi pulled out a pistol. “Prepare to die, asshole.” He muttered. He said something else afterwards, but I wasn’t able to understand him.

The gun was cocked, and I prepared to have a bullet enter my skull.

BOOM.

I cringed, and silence filled the room after. I looked around to find that I was very much alive, and that Taniguchi was dead (this entire story is sounding super cliché, but hey, there’s a reason they’re overused, right?) Right behind Taniguchi’s dead body stood Pete, holding a gun.

“I could have saved myself, you know.” I playfully mocked.

“You’re welcome, you little asshole.” Pete playfully teased back.

Pete untied me, and we managed to escape from the compound before any trouble came (I should say it was close though; we heard siren just as we left the street.) Even though I wouldn’t admit it to him, because I’m a stubborn little shit, I was extremely grateful he saved my life. I guess it was around that time that I realized that I felt something more than a crush towards him.

When we got back to the hotel, Pete pulled out a first aid kit and began to administer to both of our wounds.

“Hey, I just want to say, thanks for saving my ass back there.” I said.

“Don’t mention it.” Pete smiled, putting a bandage on a gash on his arm.

I don’t know why I did my next move; maybe it was because I was tired or the emotions of the day had been catching up to me. Without thinking, I pressed my lips against his in a tender kiss.

After about twelve seconds, I pulled away. We didn’t remove eye contact, and Pete put his hand on mine.

_Present Day_

“That was cliché.” Marina kidded.

“You asked.” I shot right back.

“Weren’t you seventeen then? I mean, wasn’t that kind of illegal?”

“We didn’t sleep together until way after I was eighteen. I wouldn’t even say that we were a couple until way after that point. Besides, it wouldn’t have been the only illegal thing we were doing.”

“Do you miss him?”

“No,” I lied. I did miss him, despite my intense anger for him.

The rest of the trip was filled with mindless chatter and discussions about music.

A day and a half later, we finally arrived in Las Vegas.

Now, Andy’s house wasn’t actually in Vegas. He was about five miles outside of the city, but it was still close enough to say he lived in Vegas. He lived in a modern looking home; it was a house that screamed bachelor pad.

Marina helped me out of the car and into my wheelchair, before going up to the door and ringing the doorbell. It took a moment, but Andy answered the door. His face lit up when he saw us.

The next few hours of my life were spent catching up and joking around with Andy, and getting him to agree to help train me for my revenge quest. I asked him if he had any idea where Declan was, but sadly he didn’t. Marina pitched in every once and a while, mostly to ask questions about Pete.

After a while, I went to sleep.

Marina had decided to go outside for a smoke, when all of a sudden, Andy joined her.

“He’s asleep,” Andy informed Marina.

“That’s good.” Marina blew out smoke from her cigarette.

“How much does he know?”

“Nothing.”

“He doesn’t know about your involvement in all of this? He doesn’t know what happened to the kid?”

“No, and I intend to keep it that way.”

Andy paused. “I have to ask, does Gerard know you’re here? That you’re helping Patrick?”

“Yes, but in his mind, I’m helping Gerard. Gerard knows that Patrick is coming for him, and instead of wasting time trying to find him, Gerard is just going to wait for Patrick to come. And I’m only helping Patrick get to him.” Marina put out her cigarette.

“Whose side are you really on?”

“I’m on my side. Of all people, you should know that.”

“Marina, this is a dangerous game. You need to be fucking careful.”

Marina smirked.

“I guess I should, shouldn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I didn't expect to get this one done so quickly, so if you find any mistakes, please let me know. Also, we are getting to the revenge quest very soon. :D 
> 
> Again, thanks for reading!


	6. Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time

_February 11, 2013_

Andy had me a fairly intense physical therapy plan. Well, it felt intense. Trying to retrain my legs to walk again hurt like fucking hell, and he also had me on a strict diet. The non-assassin part of my brain felt I should have some sort of break after my coma, but I also knew I had to train.

Especially if I wanted my revenge.

Marina stuck around for some reason, making constant phone calls to Gerard in Hawaii. She told him the only reason she was helping me was so she could get me to Gerard, so he could capture me. I was surprised Gerard bought the story; she really must be his favorite.

We had officially begun training the day after I arrived, with Andy pushing me to my limit. He was a great trainer though, so I let him do his thing. I had picked him, hadn’t I? Besides, when I went through my training in 2001, it was worse than this.

On February 11th, three days into training, I finally had the chance to ask Andy the questions I wanted to. We were eating lunch, consisting of grilled chicken breasts and asparagus, and nobody was saying anything. Usually, Andy and I would be bantering back and forth or he and Marina would be talking about working out. But on this particular day, silence filled the room. I had my chance.

“Where are they?” I asked, causing Andy to look up from cutting his piece of meat.

“Who would be the aforementioned ‘they’?” Andy bantered, knowing what the topic of discussion was going to be.

“Don’t play games, Hurley. You know exactly who I am talking about.”

Andy sighed, setting his fork down.  “Well, I will tell you right now, no one knows where the fuck Pete is. He disappeared off the face of the earth a couple years ago, after Gerard snitched.”

“Gerard did what?”

“He got a job with the feds, being their own personal assassin. Gerard was pissy, something over money and the fact that Pete killed his brother. So, he turned Pete over. Or tried to. Pete had a snitch of his own, and he went into hiding.”

“I’m surprised Pete didn’t kill him.”

“He couldn’t; Gerard had complete protection. At that point, Pete was powerless; the IAL had dissipated, and he went through most of his money trying to cover his ass. Gerard is in Hawaii. I wouldn’t go for him first, though. It would be too much of a shitstorm; well, more than it already is going to be.”

I nodded in understanding.

“Brendon, he’s a rogue assassin now. He’s in Los Angeles; fitting, I know. The LA Devotee is stationed there. Hayley, she’s in China. Terminated her contract after the massacre in Brooklyn. Joe did the same, but went the other direction; he’s in Paris. He has a band nowadays; The Damned Things. I played with them once, actually; they’re a good group.” Andy explained.

 _I don’t want to hear about Joe’s fucking successes,_ I thought to myself. I knew it had always been Joe’s dream to be in a band, and the fact that he made it made me mad.

“Joe is the easiest to find. He’s touring soon, but he’ll be back way before I’m done with you. I’d go with him first.” Andy said.

“Got it. Do you know whom I could talk to, that would know Pete’s location?” I said.

“Honestly, no. Like I said, no one knows where he is.”

“Damn.”

“And you really don’t know where Declan is?” I brought up the one topic I knew had been difficult for everyone. A father trying to find his kid…it was a fucked up situation.

“No, I don’t know where he is.” Andy lied. “I wish I did, Patrick. But there wasn’t any baby found at the scene, and neither you nor Elisa had any family or other friends who could report him missing.” That part was true.

“Maybe Pete took him?” I suggested.

“That I can assure you is not the case.” Andy stated. “I visited him afterwards, and Declan was nowhere to be found. I don’t know what Pete did with him, but he didn’t take him.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess.”

Andy went back to eating, but I interrupted him yet again.

“I apologize,” I started. “I know I keep asking these uncomfortable questions, but for fuck’s sake. That kid was my entire life. He was pretty much my reason to be alive. And he’s gone. At least if I knew he was dead, I could have closure. But the kid is fucking missing. And I don’t know where to start. I’m scared, I’m sad. I don’t know why this had to happen to me, or him.” Tears began to fall at this point. “I guess he was just unlucky enough to have me as a father.”

“Patrick,” Marina tried to say, but I interrupted.

“I need some time alone, to just process all of this. Everything has been happening so fast, that…” I was definitely sobbing now. I wheeled myself out onto the deck, not bothering to finish my sentence.

Yup, I was crying. And I had every right to. My entire fucking life had been snatched from me. My wife, my child, my friends…everything. None of them deserved to die; they were all innocent (I make the exception of my wife.) And look what happened; they’re dead. And nobody has given two shits about them since. I cried for them. I cried for the people who were going to have to die to avenge them. And I cried for myself, because none of this was fucking fair, no matter how narcissistic it may seem.

Inside, Andy and Marina were watching me with sympathetic eyes.

“I’m surprised about how good of a liar you are, Andy.” Marina commented.

“Yeah, well…he doesn’t need to know what happened to him. It’ll just make him angrier.” Andy said, his voice reaching a perfect monotone.

“How so? It’s not like-”

“He’s already pissed off. Patrick using his rage is good. This would send him into pure, unadulterated blind rage. He isn’t good like that. He would surely die.”

“So then what do you suggest, Mr. Hurley?”

“I suggest,” Andy paused for effect, “that we keep our fucking mouths shut. Some things are better left unsaid.”

_Two Months Later_

 By April, with aid of course, I was able to take my first steps in nearly four years.

Around the same time, Gerard had decided that while Marina was “away”, she would still have to work. She would just have to stick around in Vegas.

And when the opportunity came up, Gerard jumped on the opportunity.

 _“He this casino owner, Frank something. I texted you a photo of what he looks like. Anyways, he has been laundering money and the government wants him dead.”_ Gerard informed Marina.

“Consider it done, Mr. Way.” Marina said.

_“How’s Operation Patrick coming along?”_

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

With that, Marina hung up on her boss and prepared to do her assignment. She grabbed her weapon of choice, a pistol, and put it in her holster. She was wearing a white tank top and jeans, putting her hostler inside of her pants.

It was a short cab ride to the casino, lasting about twenty minutes. Just in case the cab driver noticed anything…suspicious about Andy’s home, Marina walked a couple blocks before taking one.

The casino itself was actually nicer than most. Taking on a more vintage, 1980s feel, Madonna rocked the stereos as women, dressed in miniskirts, shoulder pads, and obviously fake hair, serviced the gambling tables and bar.

Marina looked through phone, and found the text Gerard had sent her. It was a photo of the guy, whose name was Frank Harris. He was an older man, around his late fifties, and his black fading into grey hair amplified that. Below the photo, Gerard had sent a second text.

_Look for office that says “owner.” He should be in there._

Marina noticed a hallway, past one of the bars, which she figured might be a good place to start.

What she didn’t know was that she had been spotted. One of the bartenders noted her appearance, and had let Mr. Harris know. Consequently, when she knocked on the door, she was greeted by a gun right in her face.

“Who sent you?” He spat out at her.

“What a polite greeting. Hello to you too, sir!” Marina mocked, putting her hands up.

“Look bitch, I’m not here for sarcasm. I’m here because some fucker sent you, and I want to know who. If you don’t comply, I’ll have to blow your fucking brains out on the floor.”

“How would that do you any good?”

Mr. Harris paused for a moment. “Well, how about I use that pretty little mouth of yours before I do.”

Marina sneered. “Of course, sir.”

With one sudden motion, she kicked Mr. Harris right in the crotch. He began to kneel over in pain, simultaneously firing his gun. He missed by a small margin, but it gave Marina enough time to deliver a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. She pulled out her pistol, ready to deliver the final blow.

“You need to learn sarcasm, you creepy little fucker.”

She performed a coup de grace on him like what Pete did to me, only this time, it worked.

There was just one thing neither Gerard nor Marina knew.  Mr. Frank Harris had a brother, a brother that worked with the feds. And let me just say…this little event did not help Gerard in the long run.

_November 21, 2013_

It took a helluva lot of blood, sweat, and tears, but my training had completed. I won’t bore you with the details, but Andy worked my ass off and it worked. I was ready. In fact, my revenge quest was to begin in a few days.

I had a plane ticket to Paris, one way, to start everything off.

I had my hit list: Joe, Hayley, Gerard, Brendon, and finally, Pete. I was not looking forward to my reunion to any of them, but I needed revenge. And most importantly, there was no way in hell none of them knew where my son was.

But, a few days before I left for Paris, Pete had made a trip of his own. To Las Vegas, even. Not for me, though (how rude.) It was a visit to Marina.

After a sudden phone call conversation the day before, Marina found herself in a hotel conference room, where Pete had told her to meet. They now sat in silence, Marina not wanting to make the first move.  

“You could talk, you know.” Pete said.

“You wanted to talk, you know. This was your idea.” Marina fired back.

“Very well. First off, I must ask; how are you, miss Marina?”

“Fine, and how about yourself?”

“I’ve been well. Now, time to get down to business. What does Patrick know?”

“Nothing.”

“Define nothing.”

“He doesn’t know I worked for you. He doesn’t know I tracked him down after his disappearance.”

“And how do you think he will react when he finds this information?” Pete stoically asked.

“He will not.”

“And you can be so sure of that?”

“More sure than of anything in my entire life.”

“He’s going to be pissed at you. He’ll probably kill you.”

“Well, Patrick and I would have one hell of a fight.” Marina commented.

“Where do your loyalties lay, Marina? Gerard or Patrick?”

“I work for me, Pete. All my decisions are in my favor. Patrick kills Gerard? I take Gerard’s position. Vice versa? I helped Gerard out in that regard. I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t fucking don’t.” Pete stood up angrily. “You don’t know shit. Patrick is one hell of a killer, and he will find out, and when he does he’s going to kill you. And it’s not going to be pretty. At least the rest of us, excluding Gerard, were straight up and claimed to be his enemy. You might be Mona Lisa now, but your actions as Electra Heart while under me do not get canceled out. And by the way, if he does find out and you win, I will make sure to murder you myself.”

Marina grinned. “Pete, you should know better than to threaten me with a good time. Am I excused now?”

“One more thing.” Pete began. “Does he know his son is still alive?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! If you find any mistakes, please let me know.


	7. Showdown with an American Psycho - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! I know it's been a couple days, apologies, but here's a new chapter! Just a warning: this one is quite violent. I know it's tagged in the overall story, but just in case you ignored that or something, this one is violent. If you're sensitive to violence, I wouldn't read. 
> 
> Here's how I'm going to do this story: it's going to be separated into six chapter parts. How many parts will there be? I don't know. But this is the beginning of Part 2! 
> 
> Enjoy!

> If revenge motivates you, go for it! But the main thing is to set your game in order.
> 
> - Viswanathan Anand

_Paris, France_

Welcome to the so called “city of love.”

My flight was average; actually, one could say it was “fucking annoying.” It was cramped, the people smelled, and the food sucked. I couldn’t have been happier when we finally landed.

Before finding Joe, I had a couple of things to do in the area. First thing was picking up some weapons. Because of the whole “there could be terrorists” fear in the United States, I was not able to bring any with me on my flight. Andy had given me the address of some black market arms dealer in Paris so I could pick some up.

Secondly, I had to pick up concert tickets. Fortunately for me, the timing of this whole thing worked out – the day after I arrive, Joe’s band was to be playing a show in Paris. I had managed to get front row seats (they were expensive as hell, but what are you going to do.)

My attack would be after the show.

A short cab ride into the downtown area of Paris led me to what looked like a rundown pawn shop. On this day, I was wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and my signature fedora. I entered with extreme carefulness, hoping not to break anything. A man with long, black hair was sitting at the counter, but he wasn’t running anything. He was reading some magazine.

“Hello?” I asked from across the room.

“Hello! Welcome to our store!” The cashier greeted.

“You speak English?”

“I’m from the US, so yeah. What do you need?”

“I have actually come in on a recommendation.”

 “And under whose recommendation have you arrived here?”

“Andy Hurley.

The man stopped. “You must be Soul Punk.”

“Of course I am, Mr…” I said, now speaking in the French tongue.

“Ryan Ross. Just call me Ryan.” Ryan informed me, speaking in French as well. “Come.”

He gestured to a door that led to the backroom, and began walking in that direction. I took his lead and followed him in there, and was amazed at what I saw.

It was a huge collection of weapons.

Shotguns, hunter knives, swords, rifles, pistols, even steak knives could all be found in this room. Even to a normal person, it would be awe inspiring. To an assassin, it was more than they could have ever dreamed of.

“I’m surprised Andy never referred us to you when I was working with Arma Angelus,” I said, not bothering to use Pete’s real name.

“I may be an arms dealer, but I usually try to stay us out of the contract killing business.” Ryan commented, taking one of the knives and cleaning them.

“But you’ll make an exception for me?”

“I sympathize with your cause. Besides, this is simply murder, not a contract killing.”

“And this is different how?”

“This one is personal.”

“ _This time, it’s personal_.” I joked, referencing the popular tagline of action movies in the late twentieth century. Ryan, however, did not find it as funny as I did.

“Andy told me of your skills. You are proficient with knives and guns?”

“I am. I prefer knives, but I am an expert in using both weapons. What do you have in mind for me to use?”

“Andy paid me a sum of 1000 dollars. Pick within that region.”

I began to look around to what my options were. Being surrounded by so many weapons brought back an old joke between me and Pete…occasionally, we would go to gun shops and I would make fun of him for taking so long. On the flip side of that, he would mock me for taking so long whenever we were at a record store or music shop. It was kind of funny how opposite it was, me searching for something “normal” while he would be excited about instruments of death. Don’t get me wrong, it didn’t make me any less of a killer, but it was an example of how wrong the whole life was for me. At the same time, it was an example on how right Pete felt. I mis-

 _No._ I immediately shut down all thinking in my brain, and focused on the weapons I was to gather. I didn’t need to be thinking about Pete, unless it was thinking about murdering Pete. That was appropriate.

After a half hour, I picked up several hunting knives, sogs, a .22 caliber, a .44 caliber, and a shotgun. It added up to the American equivalent of $992.33, fortunately for me.

“Good luck, Soul Punk. I better hear about a murder in the next few days, and it better not be you.” Ryan said.

“I can guarantee that’ll be the case.” I confidently stated.

“Good.”

Ryan and I said our goodbyes and I left the shop. I went to the venue Joe’s band would be playing at to pick up my ticket, and began my journey back to my hotel.

What I didn’t know was that I had been spotted.

I was about halfway from the venue to my hotel when my cab was carjacked. We had stopped at a red light when, all of a sudden, two people approached the cab with guns. They yelled something at the driver in French, which I didn’t understand (I used to be fluent, but I hadn’t spoken the language in years.) This culminated in the driver getting his head blown off. This was when I pulled out one of my guns, but this was met with my chest being shot with rock salt.

~~~~

I woke up in a fancy penthouse apartment. There were glass windows that went from the floor to the ceiling, overlooking the city of Paris. The Eifel Tower was in full view. Unfortunately, I was tied to a wooden chair.

I was groggy as hell; apparently, this had been noticed by the people who had kidnapped me, as a bucket of cold ass water was thrown onto my body.

“Wake up, you fucker.” A man with a heavy French accent instructed me.

“Where…where the hell…a-am I?” I stuttered, my body still in shock from the events in the cab.

“That doesn’t matter,” The Frenchman hissed. “What matters is that you should not have come here, Soul Punk.”

“And why is that? Who did I piss off this time? Whoever I killed, I apologize.” I sarcastically said; I had been to Paris multiple times before, all of them on assignments. It was perfectly plausible that someone wanted me dead.

“We are the former associates of Miss Christine Jones, whom you murdered in 2006.” A woman, obviously of French origin but had managed to mask most of her accent, informed.

It took me a moment to recognize the name, but I did. Christine Jones was an assassin herself, who had the biggest contract killing company in Eurasia. We actually had had a good relationship with her company, before Pete took over the IAL. When he did, he managed to burn that bridge (he was pretty damn good at that.) It wasn’t long until one of her own assassins had hired us to murder her. It was a partnered assignment; one that Hayley and I had went on. I took the final shot that killed her though, which was probably why they were targeting me.

Last I heard, the client who had had her killed was killed himself.

“Oh, I remember Christine. She was a decent lady; too bad I had to take her out.” I teased.

“Too bad? You murdered our boss, you pigfucker!” The Frenchman shouted in anger.

“Pigfucker; haven’t heard that one before. You know what they say; it takes one to know one.” I sassed.

“Can we kill him now?”  The Frenchman begged.

“No, not yet Pierre.” The woman told the man now known as Pierre. “We should have some fun first.”

“Can I have fun too?” My so called “sass” was now reaching “dangerous” levels. At least that’s what Pete would say when I got to this point.

“Fuck off.” The woman spat at me.

“I must ask miss; what should I call you? I know Mr. Pierre over here, but what about yourself?” I asked to the woman in broken French.

“Call me Rene.” The woman, whose name I now knew, said.

“Well, Rene, since I am here and you know my assassin name, you must know things about me. Such as, my number of kills, my skills, my weaknesses, etc.”

“I do.”

“Then you should know better. I am one of the deadliest men in the world, and the fact that you think you can kill me, is quite cute.”

“Shut the fuck up! I could kill you with my bare hands, if I wanted to.”

“Well, we have that in common Rene.”

“Can we kill this annoying bastard now?” Pierre pleaded to his female companion in French.

“Shut the fuck up Pierre!” Rene spoke in English to accentuate her point.

“Rene, I know you must feel like you need to avenge your mistress, but I must beg something of you: walk away.” I said.

“You call that begging? You can beg better than that.” Rene spoke in French.

“Your funeral.”

Luckily for me, Rene was standing close enough that I was able to knock her legs out from under her, using my legs (which they stupidly didn’t tie up.) I kicked her in her stomach, which was followed by Pierre pulling a gun on me.

“I will fucking kill you.” He threatened.

“Then do it, you pussy!” I shouted back in French.

He pulled the trigger, but his aim was a little off. He shattered a window. At this point, Rene had gotten back up. I purposely fell forward, trying to break the chair. It didn’t work, but I managed to end up on my back. Pierre came closer to me and tried to fire. He missed yet again, but he was close enough that I was able to kick the gun out his hand.

“You must have been an awful assassin, Pierre.” I commented.

“Fuck you Soul Punk!” Pierre yelled.

At this point, Rene approached me with a knife, ready to slit my throat. I head-butted her, causing her to become uncoordinated; she still held the knife in her hands, and in the midst of her confusing, cut the rope that constricted me.

I jumped up and delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of Rene’s head, knocking her straight to the floor. She had dropped her knife, so I went for it. She jumped on me to try to stop me, but her efforts were futile: I stabbed her in the eye. She screamed in pain as I dug the knife deeper into her head, eventually killing her.

“FUCK!” Pierre screamed, making an attempt to tackle me. It didn’t work though; I punched him in the face, knocking him on his back. We both got back up on the same time, and began a hand to hand combat battle. Now, I was never that good in that category, but I got by.

Pierre delivered a few good blows (he must have done well with hand to hand combat), but they didn’t slow me down. I noticed the chair…and decided to break off one of the legs. Pierre went for me, but I slammed his head with the chair.

Disoriented, he back up for a second, but it was just enough time to allow me to kick him square in the chest. He nearly fell out of the window, but missed by an inch. He didn’t back down though; he jumped right back up and attacked me, but I punched him in the face.

That was the blow that did it, as he stumbled an inch backwards and out of the window.

Now that the fight with the assholes ironically looking for revenge was complete, I began to make my exit. But, I noticed the bag in which I had put my weapons and ticket in.

_Those fuckers tried to steal my shit._

I grabbed the weapons and left the penthouse.

_The Next Day_

The Damned Things had put on a fantastic show, I wasn’t going to lie. I was genuinely entertained, and actually felt a little pride for my former friend. Nonetheless, this pride was soon replaced by a vengeful rage.

After the show, I approached a security guard in attempts to get backstage. All my weapons, minus the shotgun, were carefully hidden under my clothes. As expected, the guard rejected my request to go backstage.

“I’m a friend of Joe Ellis.” I said; Joe Ellis was the name he used for his professional life.

“Like I haven’t heard that one before.” The Security Guard scoffed.

“Sir, I would prefer it if you let me in. It would make this a whole lot easier.”

“Just take you and your dumbass fedora and go home.”

Needless to say, the security guard didn’t survive the night.

I stealthy climbed onto the stage and went backstage. All of the stage crew was scrambling to get the equipment off the venue’s stage, so I didn’t attract much attention. I followed the hallway until I found the dressing room area. The first one on the right belonged to Joe.

I knocked on the door.

Within seconds, Joe opened the door. He was still in his stage clothes, but his face dropped the moment he saw me.

It felt like a movie; the memories of the last time I saw him came rushing to my head. The massacre, the ruthless beating, him standing over me while I lay helpless and injured, him watching a cap being busted on my crown…all the emotions came back. All of the pent up anger of the previous four years came rushing back.

I punched him.

He stumbled back, and delivered a punch himself. I managed to block it, and tried to kick him. He blocked that, and delivered a roundhouse kick to my head, knocking me into the mirror. I fell to the ground, covered in glass.

I pulled out one of my hunting knives, and as Joe came running towards me, I slashed his leg.

“Fuck!” He swore.

I pulled myself up, and threw the knife at his head. I missed and got a punch in the face. I punched Joe back, and we both kicked each other in the chest simultaneously. I fell back into the remains of the mirror and he fell to the floor. I grabbed another knife and charged for Joe, but he kicked me in the face, knocking me to the ground as well.

 Joe grabbed the knife in the wall as he got up, and he and I began a face off. We faced our blades at the other, making a move when the other did. We stayed like this in silence for thirty seconds, until Joe made a comment…because he’s Joe and doesn’t give a fuck.

“Long time no see, eh?” Joe commented.

“You could say that.” I said.

“Still sticking to the fedora?”

“You know it.”

“Good. Stick to who you are.”

I went for the kill, but Joe dodged it just in time. He punched me in the stomach, causing me to stagger back a few steps. He then delivered yet another kick to my face, causing my head to go through the wall. Joe kicked down the upper half of the wall and flipped me into the other room.

He jumped over, and tried to stab me with his piece of glass. He managed to cut my arm, followed by the clashing of our knives. We stayed in that position as we realized that Joe’s bandmate, Scott, was in the room and was watching us with wide eyes.

“What the fuck?” Scott shouted in shock.

“Um…I can explain later.” Joe muttered.

Taking the opportunity, I kicked Joe in the groin and jumped up. I ambushed the bandmate, grabbing his arm and bringing my knife up to his neck.

“Why are you threatening my bandmate?” Joe’s anger level was beginning to rise.

“Make another stupid move, and he gets it.” I threatened.

I grabbed another knife and pointed it at Joe, and another stand-off began.

“How do you have so many fucking knives?” Joe asked.

“It’s what I do.”

Little did I know that Joe’s bandmate had a knife of his own. He grabbed a pocket knife from his pocket, and stabbed me deeply in the side. I groaned in pain and dropped the knives in my position.

Scott stabbed me again, and kicked me in the back. I fell to the ground as blood began to seep from my wound. Joe picked up one of the knives and began to threaten his bandmate.

“Go home, Scott. This doesn’t involve you.” Joe said.

“Joe! For fuck’s sake, this guy was trying to kill you! He was going to kill me!” Scott was frenzied.  

“Scott; Go. Home.” Joe motioned his knife towards him to emphasize his seriousness.

Scott took the hint and ran out of the room. When Joe and I were alone, he proceeded to spit on me.

“That’s for threatening my bandmate.” Joe stated as he began to walk out of the room. Realizing what he was doing, I spoke up.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I hissed.

“I’m going home.” Joe explained, leaving the room and leaving me to die.

I was losing blood at a rapid pace…I began to feel light headed. I tried to get up, but it was no use. As the darkness began to take over my vision, I welcomed it. It wasn’t long after that the world was completely dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you find any mistakes, please let me know.


	8. Showdown with an American Psycho - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for a bit of a wait. I had final this week, and that kind of took over my life. This chapter is a little shorter, but I think it does its purpose. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The next morning, I awoke.

The hospital room was a lot cleaner than the one that I had awoken in in Brooklyn. The walls were a sparkling white, and the technology actually seemed like it belonged in 2013 instead of 1973. There was actually a TV, the bed was sort of comfortable, and there was a view from the window.

I didn’t know how long I had actually been out, but it could not have been that long. It looked like the sun was rising in the distance, so I assumed it was pretty early in the morning the next day. I tried finding a clock in the room, but I could not to my dismay.

I contemplated either turning on the TV or going to sleep, but as the remote was on the other side of the room and I was still in a lot of pain from my stab wound, the latter seemed like an appropriate action. The attempt was made for a few minutes until I was interrupted by a nurse.

“Sir! How are you?” The nurse spoke in fast French, in a manner that seemed too familiar to my introduction to Marina.

The nurse and I talked for a few minutes, her informing me of my present situation. No, she was not a goon (apparently) of Gerard’s or Pete’s or even Joe’s. Yes, I had only been out from about 11:00 pm to 6:00 am, due to painkillers and surgery to stitch the wound up. Yes, I needed to be in the hospital for two more days so they can observe me. That one pissed me off, as it meant my revenge quest must be delayed for a while longer. I was then given another round of painkillers, and off to sleep I went.

When I woke up, I was greeted by a rather…unfriendly visitor of the name of Joe Trohman.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.” Joe joked.

“Hello.” I greeted unenthusiastically. “How long have you been here?”

“About a half hour. Can’t bear to get away from your sleeping face.”

“That’s weird.”

“But it was okay when Pete said it? Come on, man.”

That actually caused me to laugh. “Well, if you plan on getting me off any time soon, maybe you could say that as well.”

“I should really rethink my plan, then.” Joe smirked.

I chuckled once again, taking in the conversation I was having with my former friends. It felt like no time had passed, no betrayals had been committed. Well, maybe I wouldn’t go that far, but it felt somewhat…normal.

“How are you feeling?” Joe’s tone went to a somber seriousness.

“Painkillers wore off, so not fantastic. Better than I was this morning.” I explained.

“That’s good…ish.”

“You put on a good show last night, man.”

“Thanks.” Joe smiled.

“How are you feeling? You could beat up pretty good last night as well.”

“A little sore, but nothing some pot can’t shake off.”

“Still smoking, eh?”

“Of course.” 

A gloomy silence filled the room, as I tried to find the words to ask next. There was one question that I had yet to ask, that I knew I needed to. He must have known, too; the way his face looked when the words came out of my mouth emphasized that.

“Why’d you do it? Back in Brooklyn?” I barely managed to get the words out.

Joe sighed. “I just want you to know that I did everything I could to stop it.”

“That’s a lie. If you’d done everything you could have, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Shut the fuck up for a second. You don’t know just how pissed off Pete was when he found out you were alive. Hayley and I objected it until the very end, and the only reason we did it was Pete threatened our lives as well. And, well, I don’t know about Hayley, but I was mad too. I’ve known you my entire life, Patrick, and you let us believe you were dead for a year and a half!”

“And that’s why it fucking hurt when you did it! You were my best friend, and we go beyond the contract killing business. We’re practically brothers, and you tried to murder me.”

“You have no fucking idea how I bad I feel. I am so sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but hear me out. I’m sorry; I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s a bit too late for an apology.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to go out saying I didn’t try.”

“You and I have unfinished business.”

“I know.”

The room went silent again. A good five minutes passed before another word as spoken, and while one may have perceived it as “awkward”, it honestly wasn’t. Joe knew what he did, and he knew what was coming for him. We didn’t have a lot more to say, so we simply didn’t say anything. It was probably going to be our last violent moment together, and we just wanted to enjoy the other’s company.

Joe (as usual) was the one who broke the silence. “When do you get out?”

“Two days.” I said.

“I know a lovely park in the outskirts of Paris. I’ll write down the address for you. There’s a nice little pond in the middle of it; quite a serene place. Two days from now, at 6:30 in the evening, let’s meet there. Bring your weapon of choice, and we’ll fight it out.”

“It’s a deal, Joe. But I’ll let you know that failure to meet our date will result in me putting a bullet in your head while you’re performing. Understand?”

“Of course.”

With that, Joe wrote down the address of the park, followed by us saying our goodbyes as I began to prepare myself for my showdown with an American Psycho.

~~~~

I arrived at the park (which truly was beautiful), I found it much to my relief that Joe was waiting there for me already.

Like at the arena, my knives were skillfully hidden under my clothes. I approached the table where Joe was sitting, sipping from his coffee as he watched nature flutter on with its usual business. It was odd to think about; everyone was doing their own thing, and here we were, about to try to murder each other. Nobody cared what we were doing, though; they were in their own little world.

As were we.

I sat down across from where Joe was sitting; however, in similar Joe fashion, he didn’t realize I was there for a couple minutes. He definitely appeared startled when he saw me there.

“Patrick. Or should I refer to you as Soul Punk.” Joe greeted.

“Patrick would suffice.” I clarified.

“Alright. I would have gotten you a coffee, but it would have been cold.”

“How long have you been here?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Do you have the time?” I asked.

“6:28.” Joe answered.

“Well, we have a couple minutes.”

“I just want to reiterate my apology-”

“Don’t, Joe. It’s unnecessary. I can’t do shit with ‘I’m sorry.’”

Joe sighed, and another somber silence (we had a lot of those at the end) filled the air. I took in the scenery of the moment; the sun was setting, and the sky was a beautiful mixture of orange and red. The water of the pond moved in such a subtle yet enticing way…it almost made me forget what I was here to do.

“It’s 6:30,” Joe began, “are you ready?”

I nodded. “Give me everything you’ve got.”  

Joe pulled out a gun and fired. I managed to barely dodge the bullet, and then kicked the table up to pin him to the ground. I stood up and took out one of my knives, but Joe blew a big ass hole in the table. He crawled himself out, and fired once again. I kicked the gun out of his hand and delivered a punch to his face. He followed this by kicking my knife out of my hand and kicking me in the chest, causing me to fall to the ground. Joe then made an attempt to body slam me.

My second knife entering his abdomen as he fell stopped that idea.

We laid there, him on top of me and bleeding heavily.

“I’m so sorry it had to come to this.” I said, my voice cracking a bit.

“Me too.” Joe’s voice was cracking as well, but this was due to pain.

“Thanks for being my friend, despite everything.” I was actually being sincere, and this resulted in Joe nodding. “Ready?”

Joe nodded again.

I dragged the knife down to the bottom of Joe’s abdomen, disemboweling him. He screamed in pain and died seconds later.

I pushed him off of my and got up. I stood over his body, and out of respect, closed his eyes. He might have fucked me over, but he was my best friend at one time. I had to respect that.

I managed to have left the park before I actually started crying.

~~~~

A shower and a clean shirt were required when I got back to my hotel. I began to pack my things after booking a train ticket to Shanghai when I decided to call Andy to let him know of the events.

_“Disembowelment…rough way to die.”_ Andy said.

“Yeah,” I stoically responded.

_“You okay?”_

“I don’t know. I mean, he was my best friend…I had to do it, but I’m just kind of sad.”

_“It’ll be alright. Just remember what happened.”_

“I’ll try. So, do you have the exact coordinates of Hayley’s address?”

_“I emailed them to you. Use the hotel computer to print them off.”_

“Got it.”

 Despite being close with him, Andy had never been the best comforter when it came to death, especially when it was an enemy. I hadn’t either, to be honest. Joe was my enemy, and I had to have my revenge.

It just didn’t mean I couldn’t be sad.

But I couldn’t be sad for too long. I had another enemy to take out.

Hayley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter will be up, as I will be INSANELY busy in the next couple weeks (play practice, homecoming [I'm part of the homecoming committee at my school and we have a lot to do], and I'm moving). I will let you know the next chapter is going to be a flashback chapter.
> 
> If you found any mistakes, please let me know. Again, thanks for reading!


	9. Are You Satisfied?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2009, four months before the massacre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the wait; things have been insane in my life the past few weeks (play practice, moving, homecoming, school, it's been a pain.) Here's the next chapter! Hopefully the next one won't be as long as a wait.

_June 12, 2009  
New York City, New York_

Pete’s rule always was that nobody was replaceable. Even I wasn’t an exception to this rule.

By June of 2009, I had been out of the IAL for over a year. My son was seven months old, and a new assassin has been hired to fill the Patrick shaped hole in the organization. This new assassin’s name was Marina Diamandis, who was a former assassin for the ACAS. There, she worked under Miss Blue. But when she was hired by Pete in September 2008, she had a new codename: Electra Heart.

I had been working at a used record store, running it actually, while Elisa worked as a self-employed online florist. It didn’t bring in a lot of money, but it was enough to get by and we were okay with that. Being rich kind of sucks, to be honest. The cash is just a rash without the pleasure of the scratch.

But Marina was not in a similar situation. She was working for Pete, and on the twelfth of June in 2009, she was on assignment in New York City. I don’t even know what the assignment was, but I think it was some drug lord who masqueraded as a corrupt Wall Street executive. Marina had completed the assignment without any trouble whatsoever.

When she did her next action, she had had a few hours before her flight was to depart back to Mexico. She decided to kill sometime and explore New York City (you may be wondering how she did this without getting caught as a murder; she was a master of disguise. Electra Heart had curly blonde hair and was caked with makeup. Marina was brunette and went au natural.) This led her into Brooklyn, and into a certain record store.

A record store that was owned by me.

She had seen multiple photos of me, as Pete had a multitude of those, so she knew what I looked like. I don’t remember the day, actually; everything I have heard about it came secondhand from Pete on our last encounter. Apparently, she had asked me a question about some David Bowie record. After a bit of a fangirl moment, I showed her what I believed to be my favorite. With the David Bowie comment and the fedora combined with the fact that I looked familiar to her caused her to piece it together.

She knew she had spotted Soul Punk.

~~~~

After the death of the love of his life, Pete Wentz had been in a bit of a funk. In the year since it had occurred, he had dealt with it in various ways. Alcohol, cheap men and women, and unjustified kills were some of these. Fortunately for him, he had eventually learned some productive ways to deal with his grief – writing was one of them.

This was one of the reasons Marina didn’t want to tell Pete of her discovery.

Much like I had done in previous years, Marina had gone straight to the compound as soon as she got back from her assignment. Pete was there, but so were Joe and Hayley, who had just returned from a job in Argentina.

“Miss Marina!” Pete greeted, hugging her as she walked through the door. “How was the assignment?”

“Um, interesting, to…to say in the least.” Marina stuttered.

“Please give more details than just interesting. There has to be more than that.”

“Well, the guy was a complete jerk-off; I had a much pleasure putting a bullet in his eye socket. There wasn’t that much security, to be honest. I was kind of surprised.”

“Well, if that’s the case, you better watch your back because there is probably more to come.” Pete said with a nonchalant tone in his voice.

“That’s not very encouraging, sir.”

“You’ll be fine. You can handle it. I would just…stay away from New York City for a while. Joe and Hayley were just telling me about their assignment; it was a gory one. Joe, Hayley; please let Marina in on the details. I would like to talk longer, but I have some paperwork to go over.”

With that, Pete left the entrance area.

“So, the guy was-” Joe began.

“Shut up. I need you guys to sit down for this one. I don’t know if I’m right, or if I’m being irrational, but…I may have spotted a ghost.” Marina motioned them into the living room.

“A ghost?” Hayley hesitantly questioned.

The three of them sat down in Pete’s living room.

“Patrick. I’m pretty sure he’s alive.” Marina clarified with a heavy sigh.

“WHAT?” Joe and Hayley simultaneously exclaimed.

“Will you both shut the fuck up?” Marina hissed.

“How…what…when?” Joe stuttered, the words barely leaving his mouth coherently.

“I was bored after my assignment, so I decided to explore the city for a bit. It led me to a record store in Brooklyn, the owner of which looked a lot like Patrick.”

“How do you know it was him?” Hayley said.

Marina pulled out her cell phone, which she used to snap a photo of me working. She pulled the photo up and showed it to her coworkers.

“Fuck…that does look like him. But he wouldn’t just…leave like that…would he?” Joe said.

“He disappeared. No one actually found his body. Pete had people looking for months…nothing came up.” Hayley explained.

“I don’t know if he’s alive or not. But I’m telling you what I saw.” Marina stated.

“Marina, you cannot fucking tell Pete.” Hayley spat.

“Why?”

“Patrick left for a reason, if he’s alive. I don’t want to fuck whatever he’s doing now up, and that’s exactly what Pete does. Revenge is part of his business model, and he doesn’t like being fucked over. Or dumped.”

“He deserves to know, doesn’t he?”

“Just keep your fucking mouth shut. This does not need to become a big thing.”

Marina nodded and walked out of the room, not saying a word. Joe and Hayley were left alone, left to ponder the information Marina had given them.

“Fuck…Patrick. I…I don’t know what to say.” Joe muttered. “Why would he lie that he was dead?”

“I heard rumors that he and Elisa Yao were fucking while he was on assignment. Maybe she got pregnant?” Hayley suggested.

“He was with Pete at the time. He wouldn’t cheat on him.”

“They were having a lot of problems, remember? It’s not impossible. I’m not saying that’s what happened, but it’s a possibility.”

“Why would he go with her if SHE was the one having the kid?”

“Because he’s a stand-up guy.”

Joe sighed. Silence filled the room once again, Joe and Hayley both on the thought of their friend. Joe felt anger; he couldn’t comprehend that his best friend would let him believe he was dead for over a year, regardless of the reason. Their friendship went beyond the assassin thing, and Joe felt like he should have been in the know. Maybe he could have gotten out too. Hayley, on the other hand, understood. Was she happy he let her believe he was dead? Not exactly, but she understood why he did it. They were in the business of misery; everyone wants out at some point.

“Would you ever leave?” Hayley asked.

“I’m not going to lie, I want to.” Joe admitted. “I have for a while.”

“Me too. I like the easy cash, but the whole killing people part isn’t exactly my forte. It never has been. Being a drug dealer was a lot better.”

“That would be a hard one to explain to Pete.”

“Of course it would be. Do you expect Pete to understand wanting out? This is his passion. I mean, people have left before; according to Patrick, anyways. Pete was fine with them leaving…I’m sure he’d be fine with us.”

“Depends how it was done. If we went the way Patrick did…” Joe paused.

“He’d put a bullet in our head. Granted, we don’t share the same type of relationship Patrick did.”

“Pete’s a passionate man. He would have our asses killed. And if he ever found out about Patrick…”

“Hell hath no fury.” Hayley simply stated.

~~~~

There was one place Elisa and I liked to spend summer afternoons, and that place was Central Park. And this particular afternoon wasn’t unlike the others. Elisa, Declan, and I were having a nice picnic. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but according to the weather report there was a storm coming later on. I couldn’t believe it, even though I knew it was coming.

There had been a nice lull in the conversation. I was watching Declan play with the dirt underneath him, hoping he didn’t find a piece of glass and cut himself or something. I was little taken off guard when Elisa asked me a question.

“Are you satisfied?”

“What do you mean?” I retorted, unsure of where this conversation was going.

 “Look where we came from. We gave up an exciting life, taking out human beings for a hell of a lot of money, traveling the world. And now we’re normal, so to speak. I’m just wondering if this was all worth it to you.”

It was a bit of a loaded question.

Did I miss being an assassin? Of course not. I hated killing people, and I only stayed for Pete.

Pete…I missed him. That part wouldn’t go away. Even though I loved Elisa, Pete was the love of my life. I spend seven years with that man, and I couldn’t ever forget that.

I did miss the money, I wasn’t going to lie.  Being a record store owner didn’t bring in a lot of mullah, unfortunately. However, it was a job I actually loved, so I wasn’t complaining.

I missed my friends. Joe, Hayley, and Andy were the closest friends in my life, and I could never repay them for the years of friendship they gave me. They were fucking awesome.

I missed nothing else. And in my new life, I have my son. And he was worth every fucking thing that has ever happened to me. 

The answer was easy. “It is,” I said, giving a smile.

Elisa kissed me on the cheek and cuddled up beside me, and we continued to watch our baby son play with the dirt.

~~~~

Marina had done the research. She looked through aliases both Elisa and I used, and looked through public records of a fuck ton of countries. Eventually, she found Patrick Richards – a record store owner, who opened it a couple weeks after the death of Soul Punk. Another piece of evidence was that my body was never found. I was simply presumed dead nearly seven months later. After seeing Patrick Richards was married to an Elisa Roberts, she also researched Elisa; her body wasn’t found either. Turns out, Elisa Roberts was an alias of Elisa Yao.

There was overwhelming evidence proving Patrick Richards was actually me.

Three weeks after her visit in New York, Marina had collected the evidence and put it into a nice manila folder. She contemplated her options; hide it, and when Pete found out (and of course Pete would find out) be punished, or let him know. She went with the latter.

Surprisingly, Pete kept a calm demeanor during the meeting. He was professional (though rumor has it many things in his office were smashed afterwards.) Yet, two days later, a meeting of the IAL was called. And Pete was PISSED.

The five members of the IAL met in the living room of Pete’s compound, all slightly annoyed (with the exception of Marina, who knew exactly what was happening.) Pete, although trying to be professional, was not hiding his anger well.

“What the fuck is going on this time, Pete?” Brendon complained, lighting a cigarette.

“Seriously. I was supposed to get a massage, but no, I have to fucking work. I literally got back from an assignment this morning. What the hell?” Gerard added in.

Pete took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself down. “Both of you shut the fuck up. I have some…news.”

Joe and Hayley glared at Marina, both knowing what she had told Pete after he said this.

“Last year, we sadly lost one of our own. Patrick Stump, also known as Soul Punk, was one hell of an assassin who was martyred for our organization. Or so we thought. It has recently been brought to my attention that he is alive, living in New York under an alias, and is married and has a kid.”  

The room went silent.

“Things right now, as you may know, are crazy. After the assassination of Jackson Carrell in January, our underground world wants so many dead. But when things calm down, which I am hoping happens in September, I have a new mission for you.”

“No.” Hayley said under her breath.

“We are going to find Patrick. You are going to kill his friends and beat his ass. I kill his wife and him.” Pete bluntly said.

“No.” Hayley repeated.

“Any objections, you’re going down with him. Any questions, please ask later. Thank you.”

Pete left the room, and left the IAL members in shock.

Soon enough, the plan did come to fruition. But Joe did make an attempt to warn me…he wrote a letter to me. But Pete has spies everywhere, and the letter never came. Joe was threatened with his life if he tried anything like that again.

Pete created every little detail of the mission. He would arrange something at Elisa’s work to occur, letting us have a party. And then they would crash that party, and Pete’s idea would come to life.

His plan was to kill me. Ironic thing is that the only thing I haven’t done yet is die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know if you find any mistakes.


	10. Misery Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick faces the second person on whom he plans to get revenge on, Hayley Williams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry for another wait! Writer's block is not fun, but here is Chapter 10!

_December 24, 2006  
Toronto, Ontario_

I hated Christmas assignments. Something about killing people on the holidays didn’t exactly thrill me, but I had to do it. It was my job, after all. Besides, I had good company.

Hayley had been working with us for a little over a year, and she and I had become close quick. In fact, she was the only person I recruited during my time in the IAL. We had similar backgrounds (ultra-religious low income family that was slightly emotionally abusive), similar reasons for getting into the crime world (being kicked out), and we were close to the same age at our time of employment (she was sixteen when she joined, I was seventeen.) She became like a little sister to me, whom I felt I had to protect.

But there’s no protection when your job is murder.

“Fucking Christ, couldn’t Pete have at least sent us somewhere warm? Fuck.” Hayley groaned, her teeth beginning to chatter. In her hands was a sniper rifle, one eerily similar to the one I was holding.

“You get used to going on bad assignments.” I reassured.

“When?”

“I’ll get back to you on that when I find out.”

Hayley let out a slight chuckle before going back to our concentration. Our target was not a crime lord or an ex significant other…actually, it was a celebrity. There was a Christmas gala in order to raise money for some disease, and actress Olivia Beaker was hosting. Why did someone want her dead? Because apparently when an actress places a restraining order on their stalker, it’s somehow their fault.

Regardless of how I felt about the reasoning, it was still a job. We don’t normally do high profile jobs that involve public figures, so Pete sent both me and Hayley on the assignment. He said, and I quote, that “we [Hayley and I] were the best assassins in the squad” and that we would be able to pull it off.

He wasn’t wrong.

We stood about four buildings down from the venue, high range rifles in our hands.

“Patrick?” Hayley said, interrupting my train of thought.

“What’s up?” I answered.

“Why do you stay in this? I’m genuinely curious.”

“By ‘this’, I assume you mean the assassin thing and not the cold.”

Hayley rolled her eyes. “Yes, dumbass.”

This resulted in a laugh from my end. “Honestly, I don’t know. Pete is a huge part of it; he has me wrapped his finger. Plus the money’s good and the jobs sort of easy.”

“But it’s…” Hayley paused.

“Wrong. Tell me about it.”

“I’m sure there’s a life outside of Pete. Besides, you guys seem to fight way more than you should.”

“Pete hasn’t been sleeping well.” I lied; okay, Pete has dealt with insomnia issues in the past, but they were in the past. “He just gets a little cranky, that’s all. Why do you seem to want out all of a sudden?”

“Because-”

“Shut the fuck up. Sorry. There she is. Want to take the shot?” I interrupted.

Hayley pulled the trigger, and managed to strike Olivia Beaker straight in the head. Unfortunately for the masses, it happened on live TV. But it was a good hit.

We went down the building’s side fire escape as fast as we could; despite being a few buildings down the road from where we shot the unaware celebrity, you never knew who was around. A car was waiting for us out in the back of the building, and within two hours, we were both on a private flight back to Mexico.

The plane was quite elegant, with a bar, television screens, plush seating, and tables apart of its amenities. Hayley and I sat next to each other, both of us trying to sleep and neither succeeding.

“Hey, Patrick?” Hayley whispered, as if to see if I was awake.

“Yeah?” I groggily replied, tired from the lack of stimulation plane rides provide.

“I want out because I hate this.”

I sat up, unsure of what she was talking about. But then, I remembered our earlier conversation and it all came back to me. “How?”

“This does nobody any good. People lose their lives, and I feel horrible for doing so, and people have their loved ones taken away. This is all sorts of fucked up.”

“You knew this going into it. You have to remove yourself from that. I have.” I lied; I still felt bad from time to time. Like hell I was going to admit it.

“I get that, but that doesn’t make it right. We work in a business of misery, Patrick, and in the end everyone is going to get hurt. You, me, Pete, our clients, every-fucking-body. It’s only a matter of time.”

_December 2, 2013  
Shanghai, China_

I spent the multiple day train ride in thinking.

What happened in Paris hadn’t stopped affecting me, partly because it was all over the news. Seeing that Joe was a pseudo-celebrity these days, his death sparked headlines internationally. But mostly, I was sad because he had been my best friend at one point, and now he was dead.

I mean, the fucked deserved it. No one could ever deny that; the fucker helped take part in killing innocent people, a list that maybe my son would belong to as well. All of them deserved it, yet I couldn’t help but feel remorse.

I guess I shouldn’t have been a killer after all.

Regardless, there was no use worrying about it; every project I begin, I finish. That’s my rule. And revenge was in the cusp of my hands.

When I got off the train, I called Andy to let him know I had arrived. After the short conversation, I received a rental car that would plunge me deep into the Chinese countryside.

These days, Hayley Williams was no longer an assassin; instead, she was a drug manufacturer. But if you asked a regular Chinese citizen, they would have no knowledge of her. Her exports are mostly in the Chinese underground, with an occasional sale to a Western country. Her services are difficult to be found, as there is a waiting list and she is off the grid. If you knew her name, it was because you were part of a drug cartel. Which no one would ever want to admit.

It was a five hour drive to her home. Thankfully, Andy was a resourceful man and had found her coordinates for me. Otherwise, I would have had to plunge into the Chinese underground to find it for myself, and that would not have been a good idea. I may have been deadly, but the Chinese underground had always been rumored to fight dirty, and Pete made a very clear point to steer us away from that.

The home was a cozy little cottage, with an Oriental look to the home. I stopped the car about a minute away, and a 9mm pistol, a .45 caliber pistol, and multiple knives, and skillfully hid them underneath my clothes.

I began to approach the house as stealthily as I could, and hid underneath a window. It was a normal, square window that you would find on almost every suburban home in America. I peeked into it, and noticed Hayley was in a meeting with a client. I could even hear the conversation inside, and was able to pick up bits and pieces of it, despite it being in Mandarin (I knew a little Mandarin, some bits and pieces that Pete had tried to teach me.)

The client, a man of Chinese origin with dark hair, was speaking. I picked up “what’s your price?”

Hayley responded, but I wasn’t able to translate it. The conversation continued as I waited for the proper time to strike. However, I did manage to pick up one thing Hayley said.

“Can you hold on for a moment? I need to deal with something.” I heard her speak, before a loud boom encompassed my ears and shards of glass fell on me.

_Motherfucker_ , I thought.

I did a flip from my crouched position underneath the shattered window into Hayley’s kitchen. Hayley shot her shotgun once again, but I dodged it. I pulled out my 9mm pistol and began shooting. Her client was trying to get out of the action, but I shot him in the arm just to spite Hayley. The client groaned in pain, and Hayley gave a look of concern for her wounded client. The gaze distracted for a split second, but it was long enough.

All of a sudden, I picked up the wooden table and pinned Hayley with it against the wall. I shot her client in the head, knowing he would simply be a stumbling block in the procedure. Hayley tried squeezing her way out of her pinned position, but it was no use. I pulled my gun out and aimed it straight at her face.

“So, what are you going to do now, huh? Kill me?” Hayley hissed at me.

“That was the plan.” I retorted with a smirk.

“And you’re going to let me go down with you having the advantage? I thought the whole point of this was to have a fair fight.”

“Seriously? What happened in Brooklyn was definitely not a fair fight. And should I mention that you made the first move, and I simply gained the upper hand. It’s matter of survival of the fittest, Hayley.”

“Look, I’m sorry for what I did to you-”

“Bitch, you can stop right there.” The use of the word bitch stopped her dead cold; she hated being referred to as one. “Sorry doesn’t mean a damn thing anymore.”

“So what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, Patrick, out of all people, you should know that I can’t not say anything.” Hayley admitted. “Hear me out; I’m sorry for what happened in Brooklyn. And I deserve what you’re going to do to me. But I have to ask; why’d you kill Hai too?”

“Who the fuck is Hai?” I spat out.

“My client, you dumbass. He had nothing to do with this.”

“And neither did anyone else you killed.”

“You have always been one to not involve people who don’t deserve it. And you also like being the bigger person. This revenge thing I know is for justice, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

“You don’t care; you’re just trying to make me feel bad.” I angrily said.

“Maybe, but you know I’m right. Remember what I said; this business is going to leave everyone hurt. You may not die today, or tomorrow, but your comeuppance will come just like mine has. And I know that isn’t something you chicken out of.” Hayley explained.

Stillness filled the room, neither of us voluntarily moving a muscle.

“You and I have unfinished business, Hayley.” I said.

I pulled the trigger, but Hayley moved her head, grabbed a table leg, and hit me in the head with it. I fell the ground as she maneuvered her way from the table’s entrapment.

 I should have realized she was trying to stall me with all that talk.

She pulled a gun out on me, but before she could pull the trigger, I shot her in the knee cap. She fell to the ground, screaming in agony. She tried using the table to lift herself up, but I kicked her in the chest, causing her to fall back down. I pinned myself on top of her and pointed my gun right in between her eyes.

“I’m…so…sorry.” Hayley whimpered.

Without a response, I pulled the trigger.

~~~~

After changing in my car, I booked a flight to Honolulu to prepare for the next leg of my journey. I was not going to be able to bring my current supply of weapons with me, but I was able to get some more in Hawaii.

I thought about what had happened with Hayley. Despite the asshole way she presented it, she was right. This whole business sucked, and everyone involved will get what was coming to them. Just like Joe and her did.

Despite her and I being close at one point, I felt little remorse. I was sad it had come to that, but like she said, everyone gets their comeuppance.

Oh well. I guess it truly was a business of misery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Again, sorry for the wait. I plan on finishing this story by the end of May, with around twenty or so chapters in the bank. Hopefully, with this goal in mind, the next chapter won't be as long as a wait. If you found any mistakes, please let me know. Thanks for reading! :)


	11. The Mighty Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick faces the third person on his hitlist, Gerard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's a short chapter, I know, but it serves it's purpose. :)

_Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 4, 2013_

_“Who’s next, Mona Lisa?”_ Gerard stoically asked Marina (referring to her as her current codename).

“Wow, hi, nice to talk to you again too. It’s like we haven’t seen each other in nearly a year because I’m on a fucking mission. It’s great to catch up!” Marina rolled her eyes, attempting to contain a chuckle. “And why the formality? If  I remember correctly, my former boss never referred to me as such.”

 _“Shut the fuck up, Marina. I don’t have time for some dumb fucking chit chat. I know Joe and Hayley are dead.”_ Gerard hissed.

“It’s not like it has been a secret or anything. Joe’s death has been all over the news, and since Hayley was such a prominent figure in the Chinese drug scene, I’m sure you government assholes have been alerted of her death.”

_“May I remind you that you are one of these so called ‘government assholes’, so I recommend shutting your mouth.”_

“Want to know who’s next? Fine. I’ll let you know that you are number three on the death list.”

_“I figured. I’m surprised I wasn’t number one, considering how he woke up.”_

“Andy warned him to take out the easy ones first. Besides the fact that Patrick was the most pissed at Joe and Hayley, since they were close and all; he wanted them out first.”

_“Ah.”_

“Philosophical.”

This caused Gerard to laugh _. “What are his weaknesses?”_

“He’s not as sharp in his movements as he was in his glory days. Probably due to the whole brain injury thing. And he can still be a tad impulsive. Not much different from when you two were acquainted.”

_“One final question; is he coming after you as well?”_

“Not now. He doesn’t know a damn thing.”

_“Surprised he hasn’t figured it out by now. Guess he wasn’t as smart as Pete played him up to be.”_

“Now you’re acting like a jealous bitch. I’ve seen Patrick in action, and he’s a helluva lot better fighter than you are. There’s a reason Pete picked him to be second in command, and not you. He actually deserved it.”

Gerard went silent, a sign of when he became angry. After a few minutes, he spat out _“Don’t get yourself killed. I’ll try to do the same.”_

Gerard liked to pretend his anger affected Marina in any sort of way, but it didn’t. He also liked to pretend her loyalties lied with him, and that he had any sort of control over her whatsoever. Again, that was false as well. Marina was a lone wolf, doing what solely benefitted her. And her involvement in my quest for revenge benefitted her no matter the outcome; if Gerard died, she’d take over. If I died, Gerard would have had more respect for her for helping him out. She was a vicious snake, who could take anyone out with her venom if she wanted to. Even before I knew of her betrayal to me, I knew of this.

Yet, regardless of her skills, she would one day get her comeuppance. Just like we all would.

_Hawaii_

I had an average flight, and the pickup of my new assortment of weapons went splendidly. I just had to make sure none of Gerard’s goons spotted me before I was to make my attack.

I had everything planned out. Gerard lived in a heavily guarded compound; his house was huge, and he had security pretty much everywhere. But there was a flaw; he lived on the beach, and due to critters making their way into his backyard, there was a hole in his fence. One that had not been noticed by any of his security for some stupid fucking reason. I would sneak into there, get into his kitchen, and commit the murder from there.

In lieu of a fuck up, I had a plan B. Probably wasn’t the wisest, but in the event of being caught, mow down the fuckers trying to kill me. It wasn’t the most bulletproof (no pun intended) plan, but I had been caught in multiple situations like this hypothetical one before and I was the one who made it out alive.

Now, this would prove to be the most challenging leg of my journey. During this part, I had to remind myself that I would succeed at the end, because I always liked the saying “when there’s a will, there’s a way.” And despite all of the shit that happened, it would prove to be worth it.

~~~~

I stationed myself on the beach that was in Gerard’s backyard, readying myself for my attack. I was in a black, long sleeve shirt with a bulletproof vest underneath (I didn’t normally like to use them, but it was necessary because of the amount of security), black skinny jeans, and my signature fedora. I had a multitude of knives hidden underneath my clothes, as well as two 9mm guns. Strapped around me were a shotgun and a semi-automatic gun, both designed to kill human beings. I was well armed for a successful fight.

I snuck in, and to my delight, no security was alerted. I stealthily made my way to the patio of Gerard Way, which contained a pool, a full outdoor kitchen, and a lovely glass table with an umbrella on it. The glass door led straight into the indoor kitchen. From what I could see, Gerard was in the kitchen, much like Hayley had been.

I snuck up to the deck, and prepared myself. I took my shotgun out, pumped it, and blew down the glass door. Gerard turned around, amused at my arrival. Apparently, he had a shotgun of his own and blew it into my chest.

The force of it knocked me to the ground, where I was then shot at once again by Gerard. He missed it, and I managed to bring myself back up. I took out my semi-automatic, and began to tear up the kitchen, but he dodged all of my bullets. When I realized how good he had become, I decided to toss the weapons aside and go to good, old fashioned hand to hand combat.

I delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of his head, which caused him to take the hint of the new way we were going to do this. He delivered a kick to my face, slamming me against the counter. He went in for a punch, but his hand met the cabinets above the counters due to my dodge. I tackled him, but he threw me off and ran out of the room.

I grabbed a knife and ran into the hallway, but he was nowhere to be found. I stood there, confused as hell, until I felt something hit me over the head. I collapsed, the room becoming blacker each inch I fell.

~~~~

I woke up in what appeared to be a guest bedroom of Gerard’s, just a few hours later. He was sitting in the corner of the dimly lit room, just staring at me.

“Nice one,” I sarcastically commented. “Thanks for the bushwack.”

“You do what you have to do to win.” Gerard said.

“You haven’t won yet, though.”

“Oh, but I have.” Gerard took out a walky talky. “Bring it in, boys.”

All of a sudden, a rush of police officers ran into the room and pointed their guns at me. I could hear a rush of sirens outside, in case I tried to fight back. I tried to find a weapon on me, but it had appeared Gerard had stripped me of all of them.

“PATRICK STUMP, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!” One of the officers shouted, making my headache worse.

A different policy officer grabbed me from the bed and forced me on my knees, and began to handcuff me. I began to fume with anger at this point, feeling both helpless and defeated.

“FUCKER! YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” I shouted at Gerard, despite the pounding of my head.

All he did was smile as I was taken away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Yes, there is more. But the next chapter is going to be a flashback chapter to 2003, and filled with Peterick fluff. So that'll be fun! And that one will be the last flashback chapter.; the rest will advance the story. 
> 
> If you find any mistakes, please let me know. :)


	12. LA Devotee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick is in jail, and an unexpected friend turns out to want to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! I got a writing kick lately, and decided to finish this up. Sorry for the four month wait, but here you go if you want!

_December 10, 2013  
Las Vegas, Nevada_

“What the actual fuck, Patrick? What did you get yourself into?” Andy screamed into the phone; it was unlike him to be angry, but I had managed to piss him off enough. It was the first time I had been able to talk to him since my imprisonment.

_“Look, Gerard drugged me-”_ I tried to explain, but was cut off.

“He’s less of a fighter than you are, and he always has been. And you let him win?” Andy’s voice began to crack.

_“I’m still alive, aren’t I? He hasn’t won yet.”_

“You’re in a federal prison, man. You’re going to have trouble winning.”

_“I-”_ The phone was cut off, the limited amount of time available run out. 

“Shit,” Andy muttered to himself.

He put his phone down and walked into his living room, trying to think of a plan. There weren’t a lot of people he could turn to for help, as he had burned multiple bridges with the IAL. Marina could maybe help, but her alliance with Gerard puts an obstacle in that option. Besides, there wasn’t a lot they could _do_. I was in a federal prison, and if they tried getting me out the legal way, it would take years.

Of course, there was the less lawful way, but nobody wanted to go to prison also.

Andy paced himself back and forth, continuing to do this as Marina returned from her run. She laughed, finding it kind of funny how deep Andy was in thought. Then, she remembered the predicament. Her boss had imprisoned me, and she was supposed to be working with both of us.

It would be a test on where her loyalties lied. Ironically, it lied with neither with us.

~~~~

_Los Angeles, California_

“You know, you really seem to have extremely healthy teeth!” Mick Kiddo, DDS, exclaimed with an excitement that only a dentist would have. “Mr. Patino, most dentists would kill to have a mouth like yours.”

“Oh, stop. You’re just flattering me.” Jerrid Patino, at least that’s what his fake ID claimed him to be, said.

“Unnecessary flattery in this business equals gum disease. Kind of puts a mark on my record.” Mick joked, beginning to take a drink of water.

“I would assume those marks wouldn’t happen to be tooth marks.” Jerrid remarked, causing Mick to choke on his drink; Jerrid was confused by this, not believing that it was that funny.

“You are hilarious, man!”

“That wasn’t even that funny.”

“Are you kidding? That was…okay, it really wasn’t. It kind of sucked.”

“Well, you don’t have to be rude.”

“Okay, look, I kind of like you. I don’t normally tell patients this, but I do.” Mick admitted, sighing. “I know you’re probably straight, but I just-”

“Dr. Kiddo, isn’t it illegal to date a patient? And who said I was straight?” Jerrid interrupted.

“That’s why I don’t tell anyone. And call me Mick.”

“Well, Mick; I must say something. I can switch to a different dentist.” Jerrid smirked.

The date was made for that night, and Jerrid left and entered his car. However, he took something off: a blonde wig and glasses, revealing short, gelled up hair underneath. Oh, by the way, Jerrid Patino wasn’t this man’s real name: it was assassin-for-hire, Brendon Urie.

Aka, the LA Devotee.

Brendon’s visit to the dentist that day was not a routine check-up. He visited Mick Kiddo, because Mick Kiddo was not really Mick Kiddo either. He had two identities: Mick Kiddo was his regular life name, in which he worked as a dentist in the middle of downtown Los Angeles. But his real name, his real identity…he was Dallon Weekes, a well-known drug lord in the city.

But, Dallon wasn’t stupid, and Brendon knew that. He was smart and experienced enough to know that if history were to repeat itself, there would be goons of Weekes’ own sitting in the backseat of his hummer.

A quick look in his rearview mirror confirmed his suspicions. As Brendon had just entered the vehicle, the goons had no time to react.

Grabbing a shotgun, Brendon shot one of the two goons point-blank in the face, taking his head clean off. The other, who was holding a semi-automatic weapon, began to tear up the car, but Brendon opened the drivers’ door and fell on his back to the ground, as he was clouded in gunfire. The second goon had no idea what had happened when Brendon took his head clean off as well.

Brendon decided to finish his assignment once and for all, and decided to drive his hummer into the dentistry building (he had always been a bit over-the-top when it came to his killings.)

The people inside screamed and ran out of the gaping hole in the building. Brendon decided to ditch the shotgun for a thirty-eight inch sword.  Dallon knew exactly what had happened, and came out of his office ready to fight. Holding a pistol, he believed Brendon was more unprepared than he actually was, since that was his reputation in the underground crime world of Los Angeles.

Brendon came running at Dallon with his full speed, and Dallon began shooting. Bullet after bullet shot at Brendon, but he did not go down. He pointed the sword and stabbed Dallon in his torso, pinning him to the wall.

“So, Mr. Weekes, earlier you seemed to be interested in penetrating me. But now, it is I who has penetrated you. And by the way, I’m not straight. I’m asexual.”

The sword was taken out of the Dallon’s body, causing blood to spray all over the room and his body to go limp.

_Honolulu, Hawaii_

I sat in a jail cell, unconvinced that I would win this unforsaken war.

I was pissed. I was pissed at Gerard, as he had cheated his way to the top and had won. I was pissed at Pete, as he had gotten me into this predicament. I was pissed at Andy, as he promised to protect me.

But ultimately, I was pissed at myself.

I failed to protect myself. I failed to protect Elisa and Declan at the massacre. I failed to avenge them, as I had lost. And all I could do was sit.

It had been nearly a week since the event at Gerard’s house. And I felt lost, and I hadn’t felt this way in such a long time.

Or, maybe I have and I hadn’t realized it.

I knew for sure that the only time I was truly happy was when I had my son. And whenever I felt lost in the past, I always had one person I could turn to.

And I failed him.

So many emotions were going through my head that I decided to make a rash decision. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best call, but I felt lost.

When I had the chance, I took a gamble on my phone call. I hoped his number had remained the same, and fortunately for me, it had. Well, sort of fortunately.

_“Hello?”_ The voice on the other line said, still as youthful as ever.

“Pete…”

_Los Angeles, California_

“You put him in jail? What the fuck, Gerard?” Brendon swore loudly into his phone, shocked at the news his former acquaintance had told him.

_“You gotta play the game. I did. I won.”_ Gerard rationalized.

“He did the exact same thing you have done on a daily basis since 1998. Do you know how hypocritical that is?”

_“It’s legal for me to do it now.”_

“Would you put me in jail?”

_“If you tried to fuck me over, then yes.”_

“Jesus Christ. Gerard, we tried to kill him. We totally, 100% fucked him over. I wasn’t his biggest fan, but he deserved his revenge. We did our doings unto him, and he deserves to kill us. And by the way, he would have killed you, if you weren’t so damn power hungry. While I agree in it being a game, I also believe in my comeuppance. We’re both shitty people, Gerard; we deserve to die. He’ll get his someday. We all will.” Brendon ranted, his anger protruding in his voice.

_“Shut up. You know damn well you would have done the same thing if you were in the same position.”_ Gerard stated, his voice acting as a knife.

Brendon stopped cold. “Good bye, Gerard.”

Brendon hung up the phone and began thinking. He knew what he had done warranted revenge, and that I should have the chance to face him.

And all of a sudden, he had an idea. One nobody else in the former IAL would have dreamt of doing.

He picked his phone up, and called a number he hadn’t in years.

“Andy, it’s Brendon. I know that I’m on Patrick’s hitlist, but I want to help get him out. And I think I know a way.”

It was the least he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This fic will finish up with 19 chapters, and I'm excited to finish it finally. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I honestly don't know where I'm going to go with this, but hopefully it will be good. It'll get me writing at the very least.


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